a 


IBRI.S 

HERBERT1-NICHOL: 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


Jack  Fleming  collection 
of  African  Americana 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE   VOODOO,  AND  OTHER. 
SORCERERS. 


VOODOO   TALES 

AS  TOLD  AMONG  THE  NEGROES 
OF  THE  SOUTHWEST 


COLLECTED    FROM    ORIGINAL    SOURCES 


BY 


MARY  ALICIA  OWEN 


INTRODUCTION    BY    CHARLES    GODFREY    LELAND 


ILLUSTRATED     BY 

JULIETTE  A.  OWEN  AND  LOUIS  WAIN 


G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NEW    YORK  LONDON 

WEST   TWENTY-THIRD    STREET  24    BEDFORD    STREET,  STRAND 

<&|u  Knickerbocker  Press 
1893 


COPYRIGHT,  1893 

BY 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


INTRODUCTION. 


As  leaves  are  seldom  gathered  till  they  change  colour  and 
begin  to  fall,  nor  made  into  bouquets  and  wreaths  till 
brilliant  colours  begin  to  show  themselves  in  their  dying 
beauties  ;  so,  all  the  world  over,  folk-lore  stories  are  but  little 
noticed  by  the  cultured  world  until  they  begin  to  assume 
romantic  lines  of  association,  nor  are  they  gathered  till  they 
have  fallen,  so  to  speak,  from  the  lofty  trees  of  religion,  and 
lie  on  the  ground,  or  are  driven  about  by  the  playful  wind, 
as  mere  legends  or  nursery  tales.  It  is  in  this  state  when 
"  prettiest " — but  unfortunately  driest — that  the  relics  of  tradi- 
tion are  most  admired  by  children  or  the  general  reader  ;  and 
there  are  indeed  too  many  folk-lorists  who  care  to  go  no 
further. 

This  very  remarkable  collection  by  Miss  Mary  A.  Owen 
takes  us  more  deeply  than  those  which  are  made  on  the 
Grimm  principle  of  "  pleasing  tales  for  the  nursery  " — back  to 
the  fresh  green  and  growing  leaves.  It  is  indeed  entertaining 
and  amusing,  but  nothing  has  in  it  been  sacrificed  to  the  latter 
element,  nor  are  the  narrators  of  the  tales  in  it  made  of  more 
real  importance  than  the  subject.  This  subject  is  as  curious  as 
it  is  entirely  novel.  •  There  is  in  Missouri,  as  "  all  along  the 
Border,"  a  mixed  race  of  Negro  and  Indian  descent,  who  have 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

inherited  a  vast  stock  of  the  traditions  of  both  races,  and 
combined  or  blended  them  strangely  into  new  life.  As  there 
is  in  them,  however,  a  very  great  predominance  of  red  Indian, 
we  get  therefore  a  clue  as  to  the  mysterious  origin  of  American 
negro  tales.  The  stories,  in  fact,  all  agree  almost  to  identity 
with  those  found  in  the  collections  of  Schoolcraft,  Kohl,  and 
many  others.  But  in  the  vast  amount  of  sorcery,  magic,  medi- 
cine, and  fetishes  recorded,  we  find  the  African  Voodoo  ideas 
very  strangely  mixed  with  the  Indian.  Here,  by  the  way,  the 
term  "  Indian  "  may  be  used  to  indicate  the  Aryan,  for  it  is 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  coincidences  known,  that  the 
American,  or  Hindu,  hold  and  carry  out  to  an  extraordinary 
identity  the  doctrine  of  acquiring  magic  power  by  means  of 
penance. 

The  real  or  inner  nature  of  Vovdooism  is  as  yet  almost  un- 
known, even  to  the  learned  ;  and  I  am  glad  that  Miss  Owen, 
who  has  been  initiated  sufficiently  into  its  mysteries  to  divine 
and  grasp  its  full  scope  and  nature,  has  carefully  recorded,  and 
will  at  some  time  publish,  her  very  extensive  knowledge  of  the 
subject.  Unlike  the  Aryan  and  Red  Indian  magic  based  on 
fasting,  contemplation,  and  "  prayer,"  it  relies  on  daring  that 
which  is  horrible  and  repulsive,  and,  above  all,  in  a  perfectly 
subjective  iron  will.  It  also  acts  greatly  by  the  terror  or  in- 
fluence inspired  by  the  conjuror  himself.  And  its  cures  and 
means  are  fouler  and  far  more  revolting  than  those  of  Indian 
"  medicine."  Guided  by  these  simple  hints,  the  reader  will 
understand  and  detect  for  himself  the  predominant  elements 
of  the  folk-lore  in  these  tales.  And  doing  this  he  cannot  fail 
to  observe  that  there  is  in  this  collection,  and  on  almost  every 
page,  items  of  true  folk-lore,  earnest,  clear,  and  well-defined, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  ancient,  mysterious,  and  strange.  I 
have  been  tempted  at  almost  every  passage  to  step  in  with 
footnote  observations — as,  for  instance,  that  while  it  might  very 
well  be  mere  chance  coincidence  that  V/oodpecker  was  a  red- 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

capped  dwarf  magician  in  ancient  Italy,  and  a  red  dwarf 
sorcerer  among  the  Negro-Indians,  this  by  no  means  explains 
the  other  numerous  coincidences  between  the  tales  told  of  the 
dwarfs,  which  are  manifestly  of  the  woodpecker  stock,  in 
Europe  and  America.  I  mention  this  because  Miss  Owen's 
contributions  to  the  folk-lore  of  the  Woodpecker,  who  is  the 
most  ancient  and  important  of  all  fairies,  are  very  valuable  and 
original. 

The  superstitions  as  regards  informing  the  bees  of  a  death, 
and  much  more  relating  to  them,  are  identical  with  Norse 
beliefs,  but  are  expressed  most  clearly  and  fully  in  the  Finnic 
Kalevala  ;  *  of  which  work  I  may  here  be  allowed  to  say  that 
I  have  seldom  been  more  gratified  by  any  contribution  to  the 
literature  of  translation  than  by  the  admirable  version  of  Marion 
Crawford,  which  has  given  to  Anglo-American  literature  some- 
thing which  has  long  been  wanting.  The  Finnic  traditions 
bear  to  the  Norse,  in  a  great  measure,  the  same  relation  as  the 
Indian  to  these  Missouri  transmissions,  and  the  Norse,  in  all 
probability,  to  the  Algonkin.  But  whether  all  such  lore  be 
"  tradited,"  or  due  to  the  action  of  like  cause  and  like  effect, 
it  is  equally  clear  to  me  that  in  the  immense  collection,  pub- 
lished or  unpublished,  made  by  Mary  A.  Owen,  and  derived 
directly  from  true  believers,  we  have  a  vast  amount  of  material 
for  discussion.  It  is  this  which  must  be  chiefly  borne  in  mind 
in  reading  this  book,  and  not  the  mere  form  in  which  it  has 
b$en  cast.  The  fact  that  this  work  bears  the  title  of  "  Rabbit, 
the  Voodoo,"  and  that  in  it  old  women  communicate  to  a  white 
child  their  stories,  will  naturally  suggest  an  imitation  of  "  Brer 
Rabbit,"  while  in  reality  it  deals  with  altogether  different 
material.  The  mere  general  reader,  for  amusement,  may 
judge  of  the  book  by  this  coincidence,  but  no  folk-lorist  can 

1  I  commend  to  every  folk-lorist,  as  the  most  exhaustive  and  valuable  com- 
mentary on  this  subject,  "II  Kalevala  o  la  Poesia  traditionale  dei  Finni" 
(Rome,  1891),  by  the  Senator  Domenico  Comparetti. 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

fail  to  perceive  its  true  value.  It  is  in  this  inner  or  true  cha- 
racter that  the  value  of  this  really  remarkable  work  consists. 
As  regards  novelty  and  originality  of  subject,  it  ranks  among 
the  most  important  contributions  to  Folk-lore. 

Mary  A.  Owen  was  not  only  born  and  brought  up,  as  her 
writings  indicate,  among  the  most  "  superstitious,"  race  con- 
ceivable, but  had  from  infancy  an  intense  desire,  aided  by  a 
marvellous  memory,  to  collect  and  remember  all  that  she 
learned.  In  reading  her  letters  I  have  often  been  reminded  of 
the  title  of  an  imaginary  work  called  "  Travels  among  the 
Savages,  by  one  of  their  Chiefs/'  In  all  my  experience  I  never 
met  with  but  one  person  so  perfectly  at  home  in  the  subject, 
and  that  was  a  full-blood  Passamaquoddy  Indian,  who  had, 
under  some  strange  inspiration,  collected  all  the  folk-lore,  even 
on  the  most  trifling  subjects,  of  his  tribe.  As  regards  the 
inexhaustible  extent  of  her  acquisitions,  I  may  mention  that  in 
the  letters  which  I  have  received  from  Miss  Owen  there  is 
perhaps  as  much  traditional  lore  of  the  most  interesting  and 
valuable  description  as  would  make  another  volume  as  large  as 
this,  which  has  not  been  given  in  it.  It  was  sent  to  me  under 
the  impression  that  I  might  find  it  of  some  use.  And  here  I 
may  remark  that  the  writer  had  no  idea  of  publishing  anything 
on  the  subject  till  I  suggested  it. 

Though  I  have  injustice  exalted  the  subject-matter  of  this  very 
valuable  and  curious  book  above  the  form,  I  cannot  refrain  from 
declaring  that  the  latter  has  decided  merits.  The  separate  cha- 
racters of  the  old  Aunties,  who  tell  the  tales  in  it,  are  admirably 
described  and  clearly  presented.  The  "real  old  Guinea  nigger," 
who  had  been  a  slave,  was  not  unknown  to  me  in  my  boyhood, 
and  I  well  remember  one  who  was  more  than  a  hundred  years 
old,  who  could  speak  only  Dutch  and  African.  That  she  had 
long  passed  a  century,  and  had  really  seen  General  Washington 
was  proved  by  a  well-educated  lady,  eighty-four  years  of  age, 
who  could  remember  the  old  negress  from  her  own  earliest 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

infancy.  The  triangular  character,  Miss  Boogarry,  who  is 
equally  Indian,  Missouri-French,  and  Negro,  shows  her  grim 
yet  childish  nature  with  its  strange  mixture  of  Catholicism  and 
heathenism  in  every  sentence  'which  she  utters.  The  author 
shows  tact  and  truth  in  translating  her  difficult  dialect  into 
plain  English. 

Apropos  of  which  I  would  remark  that  while  American 
readers  will  readily  understand  the  Negro-English  of  this  book, 
though  it  differs  greatly  from  that  of  other  parts  of  the  United 
States,  this  may  not  be  the  case  in  England,  and  I  have  there- 
fore taken  the  liberty  of  giving  in  parentheses  and  in  plain 
English  the  correct  form  of  many  words  which  otherwise  have 
been,  though  perhaps  only  for  a  moment,  unintelligible.  That 
the  dialect  is  really  correctly  given,  is  shown  by  the  consis- 
tency of  the  spelling.  But  as  it  is  as  natural  to  the  author  as 
Platt  Deutsch  to  a  Hamburger,  or  native  of  Bremen,  its  correct- 
ness can  hardly  be  questioned. 

When  the  paper  by  Miss  Owen  on  Missouri-Negro  traditions 
was  read  before  the  Folk-Lore  Congress  in  1891,  it  received  the 
great  honour  of  a  distinguishing  complimentary  notice  in  an 
editorial  article  in  the  London  Times.  Upon  which  she 
modestly  expressed  to  me  the  hope  that  her  forthcoming  book 
would  show  that  she  deserved  it.  Much  allowance  should 
always  be  made  for  a  first  work  by  a  young  writer  ;  I  can  only 
add  that  I  sincerely  trust  that  the  readers  of  this  volume  will 
kindly  admit  that  the  author  has  shown  herself  worthy  of  the 
very  favourable  impression  caused  by  her  first  appearance  in 
England. 

CHARLES    GODFREY   LELAND. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  FAGB 

I.  THE   BEE-KING   AND   THE    AUNTIES      .  .  .1 

II.  CONCERNING     A     GOOSE,    A    BLUEBIRD,    AND    OTHER 

FOWLS  OF   THE    AIR      .  .  .  .  28 

III.  BILLS    OF    FARE — THE    CROWS — LITTLE   DOVE'S   SON         39 

IV.  MORE   ABOUT   WOODPECKER  .  .  .  -52 
V.      THE  "FUSS  "  BETWEEN  WOODPECKER  AND  BLUE  JAY         59 

VI.  HOW  WOODPECKER  MADE  A  BAT  J  ALSO  SOME  OTHER 
FACTS  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY  NOT  GENERALLY 
KNOWN  .  .  .  .  70 

VII.  WOODPECKER  AND  GREY  WOLF — WOODPECKER,  THE 
HUNTER,  AND  DOG — HOW  REDBIRD  CAME  BY  HIS 
BRILLIANT  PLUMAGE  .  .  .  -  79 

VIII.  HOW  WOODPECKER  TOOK  A  BOY  TO  RAISE  AND  WAS 
DISGUSTED  WITH  THE  JOB.  ALSO,  HOW  HE  SET 
OUT  TO  CHARM  GRANDFATHER  RATTLESNAKE, 
TOGETHER  WITH  A  HISTORY  OF  HIS  NECKLACE  OF 
BEARS'  CLAWS,  AND  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  ATTEMPT 

TO   DESTROY   RABBIT'S   CUNJER-BAG      .  .  IO2 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PAGE 

IX.      SOME  TALES  IN  WHICH  BLUE  JAY  AND  HIS  "  GWINES- 

ON  "    FIGURE  CONSPICUOUSLY       .  .  .       I2C 

X.      "  OLE    RABBIT  AN'  DE  DAWG    HE   STOLE  " — HOW  HE 

OBTAINED  GOPHER'S  WINTER  SUPPLIES  .  138 

XI.      FOX   TALES   .  .  .  .  .  •      ^59 

XII.       LUCK-BALLS  .  .  .  .  .  169 

XIII.  HOW   THE    SKUNK    BECAME    THE    TERROR   OF    ALL 

LIVING     CREATURES  —  A    SHORT   CHAPTER   FUR- 
NISHED BY  BIG  ANGY        .  .  .  .190 

XIV.  MORE    RABBIT   TALES       .  .  .  .193 

xv.     "BUGS"      ......    209 

XVI.       SNAKE    STORIES  .  .  .  .  .  223 

XVII.       MORE    SNAKES  .....       239 

XVIII.      "  JACKY-ME-LANTUHNS  "  SOMETIMES  CALLED  "  WUL- 

LER-WUPS  " ALSO      u  PAINTERS  "      AND     THEIR 

VICTIMS  .  .     -  .  .  272 

XIX.      THE   LAST   GLEANING   OF   THE   FIELD  .  .29! 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE   BEE-KING  ,«.».•* 

"  SHE  COULD  TELL  WHEN  TO  WEAN  A  CALF "  .            .  2 

GRANNY  MOVING  IN  S'CIETY           .            .            .  -3 

GRANNY  TENDING  TO  BIZNESS  ....  4 

THE  AUNTIES  AND  TOW  HEAD        .            .           .  .7 

"HE  RUN  LAK  DE  OLE  BOY  HISSE'F  "  .            .           .  25 

BIG  DEBBIL  .  $8 

"DEN  OLD  WOODPECKER  FIX  THAT  LAIG  UP  GOOD"    .  55 

WOODPECKER'S  TREE            .            .            .            .  .       56 

OLE  BLUE  JAY  LAID  OUT           ....  65 

WOODPECKER  MAKING  BIRDS           .            .            .  •      72 

OLE  WOODPECKEH,  MOUSE,  AND  NIGHT-HAWK  .            .  73 
MOUSE  HAWK          ......      74 

AUNT  EM'LY       J             .....  80 

"  OLE    MISS   WOODPECKEH   SHE  BIN  'BLEEGED    TER    KYAR    HE 

VITTLES    IN   TER   'iM       .  .  .  .  .84 

THE    HUNTER    AND    THE    LITTLE    RED    MAN  .  .  85 


xiv  LIST  OF  ILLUS7RA  TIONS. 

PAGE 

"WITH    THAT    HE    WALKED    OFF   TO   THE   OTHER   DOGS,  WHO 

RECEIVED   HIM    WITH   SNIFFS  AND  YELPS  OF  DERISION  "         86 

"A   GREAT  WOODPECKER    ROSE    FROM   THE   GRASS "  .         89 

DE    BUHDS  ......  100 

OLE  RABBIT  .  .  .  .  .  .     IO2 

"WOODPECKER   TOOK    A   BOY   TO    RAISE    AND    WAS    DIS- 
GUSTED WITH   THE  JOB".  .  .  .  103 

OLE   WOODPECKER   PULL   OUT   DE   TUSH          .  .  .Ill 

PERARA-CHICKEN  TEACH  DAT  OLE  FOOL  B*AR  .  .  112 

"  MISS     MAWKIN'-BUHD    ROCK    HUHSE'F    BACKUDHS    AN' 

FORRUDS  AN'  GIGGLE"  .  .  .  .123 

"HE  DES  SWEETIN  DE  FRESH  AIR  EZ  DEY  GO  'LONG"  125 

"OLE   JAY,   HE   DES  TUHN   HE    BACK    ON    SQUIRR'L    AN 

CUST"          .  .  .  .  .  .  129 

THE    RABBIT    FAMILY  .  .  .  .  .138 

RABBIT   TEK   DAT   TOLLER-DIP   IN    HIS    HAN*        .  .  140 

"DIS  HYEAH  TURR'BLE  HURRY  S'PRISE  HIM  so"  .  .     143 

OLE    RABBIT    REFLECTS.                  .  .                  .                  .                  151 

OLE   RABBIT   AND    MISTEH    GOPHEH    .  .                  .                  .152 

THE   RABBIT    FAMILY       .                  .  .                  .                  .                  155 

OLE   RABBIT   AND    HIS    WIFE.                  .  .                  .                  .156 

THE    KING   OF   THE    VOODOOS      .  .                  .                  .                  172 

"DAR  wuz  DE  DEBBIL'S  OLE  OOMAN"        .  .  .181 

"HE    SLIP   DE    FAWK    UNNEAT    HIT!      NOW    'E   GOT   UM  1  "  185 

BLACK   WOLF    BEHAVES   LIKE   A    SKUNK  .  .  191 

SKUNK  .......       192 

"DEN  DEY  SHET  UP  AN'  WATCH  'IM,  W'ILES  'E  LOOK  ON 
DE  GROUN'  AN  WUHK  HE  MINE"  .  .  197 


LIST  OF  ILL  USTRA  T"1ONS.  xv 


PAGE 


"BIMEBY,  DE  WALKIN'-CANE  HUHT  DEM  BIG  JAWS"  .     201 

"OLE  SUN  'E    GIT   THU    'E    TRABBLIN'    AN'    RUN   HIDE." 
"CRY  ONE  GRV  BIG  TEAH  ONTER  DAT  ARRER "         .  205 

"AN'  A-RIDIN'   ON   DE   LIGHTNIN',  WUT   YO'   RECK'N   KIM 

DOWN  WID  DE  RAIN?"  .  .  .215 

"  AN'  DEN   SHE  TUCK  DE  CHU'N  AN'  PO'  OUT  DE  WHOLE 

MESS  ON  DE  YEATH"        ....  220 

THE  CABIN  .  .  .  .  .  .223 

LIL  BOY  AND  THE  SNAKES       .  .  .  .  228 

SNAKE  AND  .OWL      ......     239 

"SHE   SCREAMED    WITH    FRIGHT    AT    SIGHT   OF    HIM,    HE 

WITH  JOY  AT  SIGHT  OF  HER  "      .  .  .  243 

"THIS  OWL  WAS  A  VERY  GREAT  WITCH"   .  .  ..   262 

"SHE  PULLED  HIS  BILL  TILL  IT  WAS  LONG  *  .  263 

THE  JACKY-ME-LANTUHNS    .  .  .  .  .272 

"HE  SEE  DE  LANTUHN  PLAIN''          .  .  .  275 

DE  PAINTEH  ......     286 

"  OLE  MISS  WIDDEH-B'AR,  SHE  TUK  ER  COLE  FUM  A-GITTIN* 

ER    FOOTSES   WET   W'fiN    SHE   WAS    OUT    A-FISHIN*  "  293 

"OLE    BEE-KING    HE   TUCK   AN1   TUCK    ER    BIG    STRAW  "  .  296 

DE    PELICANS     ......  299 

HE   SHOT   THE   SNAKE  .....  302 

HE   CAUGHT   HER   BY    HER    LONG    FLOWING    HAIR  .  306 


I. 


THE  BEE-KING  AND  THE  AUNTIES. 

WAS    not     a    convention     of    witches, 
though    it    bore   the  outward    seeming   of 
one  ;    it    was   Aunt   Jinny's     "  company," 
and  a  "  good  time  "  the  guests 
were  having,  too. 

Aunt  Jinny,  or  as  her  intimates  called 
her,  "  Granny,"  sat  in  the  middle  of  the 
semicircle  drawn  round  the  great  fireplace 
THE  BEE-KING.  ablaze  with  the  conflagration  of  a  quarter  of  a 
cord  of  hickory  logs,  and  felt  herself  as  important  a  mistress  of  the 
situation,  there  in  her  cabin,  as  any  queen  could  in  her  palace 
of  carved  stone.  A  great  authority  in  her  way  was  Granny. 
She  knew  the  value  of  every  herb  and  simple  to  be  found  in 
the  state  ;  she  was  an  adept  in  the  healing  art ;  she  could 
"  set "  hens  so  that  they  never  lost  an  egg  ;  she  could  out- 
general the  shyest  turkey  that  ever  "  stole  its  nest "  in  the 
weeds  and  brush  ;  she  could  tell  when  to  wean  a  calf  or  baby 
and  when  to  plant  "  craps "  by  the  age  and  position  of  the 
moon  ;  she  could  "  lay  out  "  the  dead  and  usher  in  the  living  ; 
she  could  interpret  dreams  ;  she  knew  the  "  sign  "  of  every- 
thing from  the  spilling  of  salt  to  the  flight  of  birds  ;  she  had 
seen  ghosts  and  withstood  devils  ;  she  knew  legends  and  tales 
without  number  ;  she  could,  as  actively  as  a  girl,  "  pat  Juba  " 


OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO, 


"SHE  COULD  TELL  WHEN  TO  WEAN  A  CALF." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  3 

and  ujump  Jim  Crow"  ;  and,  last  and  most  important,  she 
was,  to  quote  her  own  words,  "  bornded  at  Culpepper  Court- 
house in  Ole  Feginny  an'  hed  seen  Gin'al  Washington  wid  my 
own  eyes."  "  An'  I  ain't  no  common  ole  nigger,"  she  would 
add,  not  boastfully,  but  with  the  calm  assurance  of  one  born  to 
high  estate,  "  I  mos'ly  ain't  no  nigger  'tall.  Ise  come  down 
fum  dem  Lenny-Lennype  Injuns  dat  hilt  de  kyentry  (country) 
'fo'  de  w'ite  folks  come  dar  ;  an'  I  wuz  sold  wunst  an'  fetched  er 
heap  o'  money  an'  I  would  ergain,  Ise  bound,  dough  I'se  mo'n  er 


GRANNY   MOVING   IN    s'CIETY. 

hunderd  yeahs  ole.  'Deed  I  would,  kase  Ise  spry.  Hit's  only 
shif 'less  critturs  dat's  cheap  fum  de  start  dat  wears  out  'arly." 
Her  claims  to  aristocracy  were  always  acknowledged  by  her 
associates.  She  had  been  bond  and  now  was  free,  and  they 
agreed  with  her  in  thinking  that  all  the  past  glories  and 
dignities  of  her  former  owners,  "the  folks  up  at  The  House  "  a 
few  rods  away,  were  centred  and  kept  alive  in  her  own  proper 
person.  Her  lineage,  too,  was  believed  in  without  a  demur. 
She  was  accepted  as  a  child  of  the  Werowances,  although  her 


4  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

abundant  grey  wool  was  of  the  woolliest  ;  no  broader,  flatter 
nose  was  ever  seen  ;  no  pure-blooded  African  ever  had  thicker 
lips  with  a  more  decided  curl  outward.  As  to  costume, 
Granny's  tastes  were  evidently  simple.  Although  she  was 
supposed  to  have  a  fortune  in  second-hand  finery  laid  away  in 


GRANNY   TENDING   TO   BIZNESS. 

the  various  trunks  and  boxes  beside  and  under  her  bed,  she  was 
"  saving  o'  gear."  Only  Fourth-of-July,  Christmas,  circus-day, 
or  camp-meeting  ever  brought  out  the  splendours  of  be-flounced 
and  be-ribboned  gowns,  or  any  one  of  the  two  or  three  dozen 
bonnets  of  all  ages,  shapes,  and  sizes  that  snugly  reposed  in  her 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  5 

biggest  "  big  chist."  Ordinarily,  she  appeared,  as  on  this 
evening,  in  a  short  costume  of  faded  blue-and-brown  cotton,  a 
Madras  turban  very  much  awry,  and  a  pair  of  men's  boots 
much  the  worse  for  wear.  Whene'er  she  took  her  walks 
abroad — not  to  see  the  poor,  for  she  despised  human  "  trash," 
but  to  hunt  eggs — she  donned  a  man's  chimney-pot  hat. 
"  Yis,"  she  would  explain  to  impertinent  questioners,  "  I  w'ars 
ole  master's  boots  an'  hats.  Wut's  good  'nufF  foh  him  is  good 
'nufffoh  me,  an'  ef  yo'  don't  lak  (like)  hit,  yo'  kin  lump  hit  an' 
look  t'urr  (the  other)  way."  As  Granny  always  carried  a  stout 
hickory  staff,  and  had  a  nervous  motion  of  her  right  arm  when 
answering  superfluous  questions,  if  her  auditors  "  lumped  "  her 
raiment  they  were  usually  discreet  enough  to  do  it  in  secret. 

On  Granny's  right  hand  was  a  woman  fully  as  dark  as  she, 
but  the  darkness  was  of  a  different  sort  altogether.  Granny, 
good  old  soul  !  looked  with  her  century  of  gathered  wrinkles 
as  if  she  had  been  carelessly  covered  with  coffee-coloured  crape, 
while  the  other  was  of  the  brown  of  old  leather  burned  by  the 
sun  and  dried  by  the  winds  ;  a  tall,  strong,  gaunt,  fierce-looking 
woman  of  eight-and-forty  she  was,  with  the  nose  of  an  eagle, 
the  eye  of  a  hawk,  the  rnouth  of  a  cat,  and  hair  like  the  tail  of 
a  black  horse.  This  was  Madame  Angelique  Bougareau, 
generally  spoken  to  as  "  Mrs.  Boogarry,"  spoken  of  as  "  Big 
Angy."  Big  Angy  sat  before  the  blaze,  scowling,  and  knitting 
at  a  red  mitten  as  savagely  as  if  the  insensate  body  of  yarn  had 
done  her  a  personal  injury.  Perhaps  some  one  had  ordered 
mittens  or  socks  and  then  ignored  the  order  ;  perhaps  she  had 
allowed  an  insolvent  customer  to  get  possession  of  a  great 
share  of  her  precious  "  garden-truck  "  ;  perhaps  an  impertinent 
housewife  had  dared  to  affirm  that  her  soap  wouldn't  "  suds  " 
or  her  brooms  shed  straws — for  Big  Angy  was  a  dealer  in  some 
of  the  luxuries  as  well  as  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  was  also 
the  primitive  type  of  that  product  of  a  supposedly  very  modern 
business  method,  the  commercial  traveller.  She  owned  a  little 


6  OLD  RABBIT,  THE   VOODOO, 

brown  house  set  in  the  midst  of  an  acre  of  good,  rich  soil, 
better  even  than  the  average  black  loam  of  North-west 
Missouri.  On  that  acre  she  raised  pretty  nearly  everything 
good  for  man  and  beast,  and,  at  the  same  time,  illustrated  the 
freedom  and  lack  of  caste  in  frontier  civilisation.  "  Touch- 
me-nots,"  "  unprofitably  gay,"  were  not  more  prominently  in 
view  of  the  passer-by  than  the  cabbages  ;  the  beets  were  as 
honoured  as  the  "  four-o'-clocks "  ;  the  onions  were  in  bed 
with  the  pinks,  the  marigolds  with  the  radishes,  the  larkspurs 
with  the  lettuce  ;  the  garlic  was  cheek-by-jowl  with  the 
delicate  musk-roses,  and  the  prince's-feather  and  the  broom- 
corn  nodded  their  tall  heads  together.  Everything  was  as  good 
as  everything  else,  and  a  pretty  show  the  collection  made  too, 
from  the  time  the  first  parsley  and  crocus  appeared  through 
the  melting  snow  till  the  last  dahlia  and  tomato  were  gathered. 
When  its  season  of  growth  and  fruitage  was  over  and  all  things 
not  plucked  and  garnered  were  shrouded  in  straw,  old  coffee- 
bags,  and  cast-off  garments,  Angy's  weekly  rounds  from  house 
did  not  cease.  Instead  of  the  flowers  that  bloomed  to  fade, 
stiff  bunches  of  "  bachelor's  buttons,"  "  everlastings,"  and 
bittersweet-berries  peeped  from  under  her  great  basket's-lid, 
and  the  place  of  the  vegetables  was  taken  by  bars  of  "  hard," 
and  gourds  of  "  soft  "  soap  (Granny  had  taught  her  the  art  of 
civilisation  known  to  them  both  as  "  soap-bilhV  "),  hearth- 
brooms,  socks,  mittens,  grated  horse-radish,  and  little  jars  of  a 
villainous  sweet  compound  of  pumpkin  stewed  with  water- 
melon-juice and  known  to  all  as  "  punkin-butter."  She  drove 
good  bargains  as  a  rule,  and  might  have  been  a  person  of 
independent  means  if  she  had  not  allowed  her  worthless  little 
Creole  French  husband,  "Lame  Joe,"  to  gamble  away  the 
greater  part  of  her  earnings.  When  advised  against  yielding 
to  this  amiable  weakness,  she  defended  herself  by  saying, 
"  Me  daddy  was  gret  French  hunter,  me  mammy  was  chile 
ter  de  big  chief  de  lowas.  Dey  not  putt  by  lak  de  squir'l  in  de 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS, 


THE  AUNTIES  AND  TOW  HEAD. 


8  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

hole,  w'y  me  do  so  ?  "  "  Des  (just)  please  yo'se'f  'bout  dat," 
Granny  would  make  answer,  with  offended  dignity.  "  Ef  yo' 
lak  (like)  dat  Joe  drink  up  all  dat  hahd  wuhk  (hard  work),  let 
*im  drink  um,  dat's  all  ! — but  ef  enny  ob  my  ole  mans  (husbands) 
wuz  a-libben,  I  boun'  yo'  see  sumpin  diffint !  "  "  Me  hab  save 
alway  some  silba  piece  foh  de  mass,"  Big  Angy  would  say,  half 
in  apology.  Granny  considered  that  as  great  a  waste  of  good 
money  as  making  a  banker  of  Joe,  but  she  was  too  discreet  to 
challenge  religious  prejudices — of  which  Big  Angy  had  many  ; 
her  faith,  indeed,  being  of  as  many  hues  as  Joseph's  coat,  as  was 
evinced  by  her  keeping  her  medicine-pipe  and  eagle-bone 
whistle  along  with  her  missal  and  "  Key  to  Heaven "  ;  by 
carrying  a  rabbit's-foot  and  rosary  in  the  same  pocket,  by 
wearing  a  saint's  toe  dangling  on  her  bosom  and  the  fetich 
known  as  a  "  luck-ball  "  under  her  right  arm. 

On  Granny's  left,  sat  Aunt  Em'ly,  a  woman  about  Big  Angy's 
age  and  stature,  but  of  a  different  avoirdupoise  and  temper. 
Her  jolly  soul  was  enveloped  in  billows  of  fat,  and  her  round 
eyes  looked  on  the  world  with  childlike  content,  in  spite  of  her 
hard  labours,  day  in  and  day  out,  at  the  washtub,  the  merciless 
scoldings  she  received  from  her  rheumatic  old  husband,  and  the 
various  tribulations  brought  upon  her  by  her  worthless  sons. 
Like  Angy,  she  was  a  half-breed,  as  her  high  cheek-bones  and 
shiny  black  ringlets  falling  to  her  shoulders  proved  beyond 
dispute  ;  but  she  was  of  another  class  altogether,  her  mother 
having  been  a  negress  and  her  father  a  Fox  Indian.  Nearly 
every  night,  after  her  labours  were  done,  she  trudged  the  two 
miles  between  cabins  to  visit  Granny  and  smoke  her  tobacco, 
and  talk  of  the  good  old  times,  the  like  of  which  they  should 
never  see  again — those  times  when  the  thriving  city,  growing 
so  rapidly  towards  their  country  cabins,  had  been  only  a  cluster 
of  shanties  on  the  banks  of  the  Missouri,  and  had  not  encroached 
on  the  virgin  forest,  alive  with  mysterious  whisperings  and 
strange  wild  songs,  nor  on  the  grassy  plains  swept  into  waves 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  9 

like  the  sea's  by  the  winds,  and  jewelled  as  the  sea  never  was 
by  an  unreckoned  multitude  of  wild  flowers.  Ah  !  those  were 
good  old  times,  when  the  forest  meant  more  to  the  human 
intelligence  than  its  price  in  cordwood  and  lumber,  and  there 
was  another  valuation  to  the  plain  besides  its  capacity  for 
raising  hay.  Each  had  its  voice  and  its  story,  in  the  good  old 
times,  when  the  heart  of  Mother  Nature  beat  in  unison  with 
her  children's,  and  she  did  not  in  the  depths  of  her  scarred 
bosom  and  sapped  arteries  feel  herself  a  Lear  despised  of  the 
children  she  had  enriched.  The  good  old  times  !  the  good  old 
times  !  others  besides  Aunt  Em'ly  look  back  on  them  with 
regret  and  longing. 

On  her  knees,  close  to  the  fire,  knelt  Aunt  Mary,  an  oily, 
dark  woman  of  forty,  of  middle  height,  well  proportioned  and 
strong.  Like  all  the  other  women,  except  Granny,  she  wore  a 
calico  frock  of  a  dark-blue  ground  sprinkled  with  white  stars. 
On  her  head  was  a  snowy  turban,  but,  white  as  it  was,  it  was 
no  whiter  than  her  great  eyeballs  and  polished  teeth.  She 
looked  the  typical  darkey,  but  was  accustomed  to  assert  that 
she  was  "  some  Injun,"  "  thes  how  it  corned  in  "  she  did  not 
know,  but  was  sure  of  it,  nevertheless.  She  was  the  cook  of 
"  The  House,"  slept  in  the  cabin  with  Granny,  and  was  assis- 
tant, not  associate,  hostess.  According  to  her  own  account,  she 
was  "  bornded  in  Tennissee,  but  mos'ly  brung  up  in  Mizzury." 
In  both  states  she  had  had  some  ghostly  visitors  and  serious 
encounters  with  his  Satanic  majesty,  but,  while  her  experiences 
were  usually  considered  as  doing  pretty  well  for  one  of  her  age 
and  opportunities,  they  were  accounted  trivial  in  comparison 
with  those  of  her  friends.  Her  occupation,  which  necessitated 
her  lowly  and  devout  posture,  was  the  roasting  of  eggs  by  tying 
strings  round  their  middles  and  dangling  them  before  the  fire,  a 
delicate  feat  in  which  many  failed,  but  she  was  an  adept.  She  never 
let  an  egg  fall,  nor  lost  its  "  meat  "  by  an  untimely  explosion, 
but  years  of  uninterrupted  success  never  palled  her  enjoyment. 


io  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

Each  egg,  as  it  had  a  neat  little  hole  pecked  in  its  side  and  was 
girdled  by  a  twine  loop,  received  the  rapturous  grin  accorded  to 
its  predecessor. 

Opposite  Aunt  Mary,  and  half  in  shadow,  was  a  little,  bent 
woman  more  important  even  than  Granny.  Nobody  knew  or 
could  guess  her  age.  As  for  her  looks,  they  are  best  described 
as  a  recent  acquaintance  once  spoke  of  a  celebrated  literary  lady 
— "  Plain  ? — she'd  be  better  looking  if  she  were  plain  !  "  The 
little  woman  was  Aunt  Mymee,  the  only  pure-blooded  African 
in  the  room,  and,  oddly  enough,  the  only  copper-coloured 
person  present.  Aunt  Mymee  was  the  child  of  a  Guinea 
sorceress  who  had  fled  on  board  a  slaver  to  escape  death  at  the 
hands  of  her  countrymen.  Like  mother,  like  daughter — 
Mymee  was  a  great  u  cunjerer,"  and  would  fain  have  had  her 
acquaintances  believe  she  had  the  devil  for  a  father.  She  was 
treated  with  great  respect,  tempered  with  a  hypocritical 
cordiality,  by  her  neighbours  of  colour,  and  was  a  valued  servant 
of  the  whites,  owing  to  her  skill  and  tenderness  in  the  manage- 
ment of  children.  In  her  lap  at  that  moment  was  a  tow-headed 
white  young  girl  who  followed  her  about  like  a  shadow,  and  was 
supposed  by  the  aunties  to  be  "charmed."  The  influence  at 
that  particular  time  seemed  to  be  reversed,  for  Tow  Head  was 
giving  evidence  of  perverseness.  Aunt  Mymee  was  expostu- 
lating, coaxing,  even  threatening,  in  a  low  tone,  all  to  no 
purpose. 

"  I  wo/zV,"  Tow  Head  at  last  said,  decisively.  "  Grandma 
and  Mamma  know  I  am  here,  and  they  don't  care.  I'm  not 
sleepy  ;  I  won't  go  up  to  the  house.  If  you  fuss  at  me  I'll  break 
your  pipe  ;  if  you  let  me  stay  and  hear  the  stories  I'll  buy  you 
a  head-handkerchief  with  my  own  money." 

There  was  nothing  Aunt  Mymee  desired  less  than  a  "  head- 
handkerchief,"  as  she  wore  her  hair  (except  on  Sundays,  when 
it  was  carded  out  in  a  great  black  fleece)  in  little  wads  the 
length  and  thickness  of  her  finger,  each  wad  being  tightly 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  u 

wrapped  with  white  cord.  She  scorned  to  conceal  these  efforts 
to  "  take  de  kink  outen  de  wool,"  as  did  other  ladies  of  colour 
with  their  kerchief-turbans,  but  as  the  proffer  of  the  present 
she  would  not  wear  was  accompanied  by  many  vigorous  hugs 
and  pats,  she  weakly  yielded  to  bribery  and  allowed  her  charge 
to  remain. 

Granny  looked  at  the  two  sadly.  She  knew  a  charmed  child 
when  she  saw  one,  and  was  resolved  to  do  what  she  could  to 
relieve  the  unconscious  victim.  Oh  !  she  knew  Aunt  Mymee, 
and  so  did  the  others.  Although  they  visited  and  received  her 
in  turn,  although  she  had  lived  in  the  cabin  a  few  rods  from 
Granny's  for  years,  not  one  of  them  ever  went  to  bed  at  night 
without  hanging  up  a  horse-shoe  and  pair  of  wool-cards  at  the 
bed's  head.  Not  one  of  them  failed  to  pour  a  cup  of  mustard 
or  turnip-seed  on  the  doorstep  and  hearth,  so  that  she  would 
have  to  count  all  those  seeds  before  she  could  go  in  at  the  door, 
or  down  the  chimney  to  tie  their  hair  into  knots  ;  to  twist  the 
feathers  in  their  beds  into  balls  as  solid  as  stone  ;  to  pinch  them 
with  cramps  and  rheumatism  ;  to  ride  on  their  chests,  holding 
by  their  thumbs  as  by  a  bridle,  while  she  spit  fire  at  them  till 
cock-crow.  Not  one  of  them  had  any  doubt  as  to  her  ability 
to  jump  out  of  her  skin  whenever  she  pleased,  and  take  the  form 
of  owl,  black  dog,  cat,  wolf,  horse,  or  cow.  Not  one  of  them 
merely  suspected,  she  knew  Mymee  could  appear  in  two  places 
at  once,  ride  a  broomstick  or  a  bat  like  a  charger,  and  bring 
sickness  and  bad  luck  of  all  sorts  on  whomsoever  she  pleased. 
No  wonder  the  aunties  sighed  in  secret  over  the  recklessness  of 
white  folks  in  turning  such  an  uncanny  body  loose  among  the 
children.  If  Aunt  Mymee  knew  what  they  thought  she  gave 
no  sign  ;  for  when  not  engaged  in  confidential  discourse  with 
Tow  Head  she  smoked  in  silence.  Perhaps  she  was  thinking 
of  the  stalwart  sons  killed  in  the  civil  war  ;  perhaps  of  the  Negro 
husband,  the  Mulatto  husband,  the  Indian  husband,  and  the 
virtues  that  made  her  take  them,  and  the  failings  that  made 


12  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO, 

her  "  turn  'em  all  loose  "  ;  perhaps  she  was  meditating  some 
awful "  trick,"  or  magic  curse.  Whatsoever  the  thought  was,  she 
kept  it  locked  in  her  own  cunning  brain.  The  child's  caresses 
she  received  with  secret  delight  at  Granny's  uneasiness  and 
jealousy,  but  that  light  emotion  made  no  ripple  the  eye  could 
detect,  she  smoked  on  and  on  in  seeming  peacefulness  and 
innocence. 

Big  Angy  broke  the  silence  with  a  French  oath,  accom- 
panied by  an  angry  gesture.  She  had  snapped  her  clay  pipe 
'in  twain,  and  as  she  flung  the  fragments  among  the  blazing 
logs  she  anathematised  it  stem  and  bowl. 

Granny  kindly  made  good  the  loss  by  taking  from  one  of  her 
many  pockets  a  pipe  made  from  a  corn-cob,  and  fitted  with  a 
sugar-cane  stem,  which  she  handed  her  guest  without  a  word. 

Big  Angy  received  it  with  a  grunt  that  might  have  meant 
thankfulness,  put  it  in  working  order,  and  went  on  smoking. 
Granny  watched  her  with  great  concern. 
"  Ain'  yo'  sorter  out  o'  sorts  dis  ebenin',  Miss  Boogarry  ?  " 
she  inquired. 

"  Yes,  me  is,"  answered  Big  Angy,  in  a  dialect  similar  to  her 
friend's,  but  garnished  with  patois  and  a  few  Indian  gutterals. 
"Iseout  o'  sorts  fum  top  to  toe.  Dem  bees" — she  qualified 
them  with  an  adjective  not  necessary  to  repeat — "  am  'stractin' 
me." 

"Wut  dey  done?" 

"  Me  dremp  'bout  urn." 

"  Dat  er  mighty  good  dream — - 

'  Dream  o'  honey,  lots  o'  money  ; 
Dream  o'  bees,  lib  at  yo'  ease.' " 

"  Na  dishaway  dat  my  dream  go.     Hit  bin  dat  de  bees  wuz 
all  daid,  an'  de  hibe  (hive)  chock  full  o'  mots  (moths)." 
That  was  serious.     All  the  aunties  sighed  in  sympathy. 
"  Dat  am'  all  ne'er.     Dey's  mo'  ahine.     In  de  swa'min'-time 


AND  OTHEfi  SORCERERS.  13 

dey  run  off,  dey  pay  no  'tention  at  me.     Hollerin'  an'  poundin' 
on  de  dish-pan  ain'  do  no  good.     Off  dey  go  !  " 

"  An'  yo'  bees  bin  oncommon  good  twell  (till)  now  !  I  'low 
yo'  done  mek  un  mad  somehow  or  ur  nurr,"  said  Granny. 

"  Dat's  de  truf,"  groaned  Big  Angy.  "Wen  my  sister's 
darter  die  an'  dey  sent  atter  me,  hit  slip  me  mine  dat  I  otter 
tell  de  bees  an'  putt  mo'nin'  (mourning)  on  de  hibes.  Dey  bin 
mad  hand-runnin'  sence  dat." 

"  I  ain't  surprise  none,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  cheerfully.  "  Ef  yo' 
don't  tell  de  bees  'bout  all  de  bornin's  an'  weddin's  an'  fun'als  dey 
gwinter  (going  to)  cl'ar  out  ur  else  sorter  pindle  (pine)  an'  die. 
How  come  dat  I  know  dat,  I  done  lost  de  lastest  bee  I  got  w'en 
my  Jake  merry  Aunt  Kate's  big  yaller  Sally.  Hit  coined  on 
me  dat  suddint  dat  hit  ain'  cross  my  mine  dat  I  got  er  bee,  twell 
I  wuz  a-settin  at  de  table,  an'  Aunt  Kate,  she  holler  'cross  at 
me,  will  I  gib  de  young  folks  de  two  fust  swa'ms  dat  come  off. 
I  wuz  dat  skeered  dat  I  mighty  nigh  cussed  !  *  De  good  Lawd  ! ' 
sez  me,  an'  drapped  de  vittles  dat  wuz  on  de  way  ter  my  mouf. 
'  De  good  Lawd,  Aunt  Kate  !  I  ain'  tole  dem  bees  dat  Jake  an' 
Sally  wuz  a-merryin'  dis  night ! '  Aunt  Kate,  she  des  fell  back 
in  'er  cheer  lak  someun  hit  'er  wid  er  dornick  (stone).  '  Well  !  * 
says  she,  '  I  'low  de  young  folks  ain't  gwine  ter  tire  deyse'fs 
out,  takin'  keer  o'  all  de  bees  yo'  gwine  ter  hab  fo'  um.'  An' 
dat  wuz  de  troof  too.  I  ain'  got  nair  bee  ter  my  name  by  de  nex' 
spring.  I  bin  puttin'  my  pennunce  (dependence)  in  de  honey 
dat  I  find  in  de  woods  sence  dat.  Dey  ain't  no  use  o'  me 
a-trying  ter  raise  bees." 

"  Ef  yo'  steal  some  new  hibes  an'  leabe  de  price  in  dey  place, 
yo'  kin  raise  some  ergin  (again),"  said  Mymee,  oracularly. 
"  Reckon  I  could  ?  " 

"  Sholy.  Hit's  de  finest  kind  o'  luck  ter  steal  bees  an'  de 
worsest  in  de  world  ter  sell  um,  dough  yo'  kin  fa'rly  buy  um 
widout  crossin'  de  luck  if  yo'  leabe  de  price  on  de  bench  whah 
yo'  steal  um  fum." 


14  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Honey ! "  cried  Aunt  Mary,  suddenly,  as  she  critically 
examined  an  egg  and  seemed  to  be  addressing  it  instead  ot 
the  company.  "  Honey  is  good  ter  eat  an'  good  ter  drink  an' 
good  ter  wear." 

A  chorus  of  laughter  greeted  her  remark. 

"  Dat's  so,"  she  insisted,  stoutly,  after  joining  in  the  laugh. 
"  Hit's  good  ter  eat,  all  um  yo'  knows  dat.  Hit's  good  ter 
drink  ef  yo'  putt  de  hot  wattah  an'  de  spice  wid  hit  w'en  yo' 
got  de  sore  th'oat,  an'  hit's  good  ter  wear  ef  yo'  got  chap'd  han's, 
ur  ef  yo'  am  'fraid  o'  ghostes.  W'y,  I  knowed  er  'ooman  dat 
did  de  milkin'  foh  er  milkman,  an'  she  hatter  (had  to)  go  home 
arter  (after)  milkin'  through  er  big  holler  whah  de  ghostes  wuz 
ez  thick  ez  gnats  in  de  summah-time.  Fust  time  dat  'ooman  go 
through  dat  holler,  she  skeered  twell  she  kyarn'  (cannot)  squall. 
She  tell't  (told  it  to)  witcher  'oomen.  Witcher  'oomen  say, (  rub 
mm  head  ter  heel  wid  new  honey,  an1  I  boun'  yo'  don't  see 
nuttin  mo' — not  eben  ef  de  moon  am  on  de  wane  an'  a-ridin' 
on  'er  back  up  in  de  sky.'  'Oomen  do  dat,  regler.  See  nuttin 
no  mo'  ;  but,  man  suz !  her  close  (clothes),  dey  des  (just)  wuz 
er  sight  fum  dat  out,  an'  de  flies,  dey  foller  'er  round  lak  de 
little  niggahs  foller  de  sukkus-waggin  (circus-waggon)." 

"It's  good  for  something  else,"  said  Tow  Head,  sitting  up. 
"  It's  good  to  per-oph-e-sy." 

"  Wut  dat  ?  "  asked  Granny,  with  a  suspicious  glance  in  Aunt 
Mymee's  direction. 

"  That's  to  know  what's  going  to  happen,"  explained  Tow 
Head,  importantly.  "  Mamma  told  me  the  big  word  for  it,  and 
I  found  out  the  rest  from  Aunt  Mymee.  Yes,  I  did,  Aunt 
Mymee  !  Don't  you  remember  that  time  you  coaxed  me  to  get 
you  some  of  Grandma's  amaranth  seeds  and  told  me  that 
amaranth  seeds,  honey,  and  whiskey  made  into  a  cake  and 
eaten  in  the  dark  of  the  moon  would  make  people  know  when 
things  were  going  to  happen  ?  " 

"  I  wuz  des  a-projecking  (projecting — experimenting)  wid  yo'," 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  15 

mumbled  Aunt  Mymee.  "  Des  (just)  keep  still  mungs  dese 
niggahs  an'  I'll  sing  ter  you,  torectly." 

u  But  twasn't  projecking,"  piped  Tow  Head,  getting  shriller 
and  shriller  with  each  word,  "  for  I  ate  some  when  you  were 
not  looking,  so  as  to  see  if  Uncle  John  would  bring  me  the  doll 
he  promised  me,  and  I  couldn't  tell,  but  he  came  that  very 
afternoon  and  he  did  have  the  doll.  Before  that  he  always 
forgot.  Oh,  yes  !  and  you  made  a  love-cake  too." 

"  Dat  chile  gwine  ter  git  pizoned,  some  day,"  said  Granny, 
after  an  embarrassed  pause,  "  ef  she  go  dippin'  an'  projeckin 
hither  an'  yon',  bedout  axin'  leabe  o'  dem  dat's  older." 

Aunt  Mymee's  eyes  snapped. 

"  I  'low,"  she  remarked,  with  deliberate  emphasis,  "  dat  dem 
I  got  er  intrest  in  ain't  gwine  ter  drap  off,  suddint,  ef  7'm  dar." 

"  Truf,  truf,  Aunt  Mymee,  ef  yo'  dar"  Granny  made  haste 
to  answer.  "  Hit  wuz  de  times  yo'  wuzzent  dar  dat  gimme  de 
worrymint.  Missey,  she's  a  mighty  free  hand  'bout  a-dippin'  in 
an' " 

"  Oh,  stop  fussing,  Granny  I  and  tell  some  stories.  Tell  a 
bee-king  story,"  interrupted  Tow  Head.  "  Mamma  scolds  me  all 
I  need.  You  tell  me  a  pretty  story." 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Jinny,  tell  my  lil  lamb  er  putty  tale  'bout  de  ole 
bee-king,"  urged  Aunt  Mymee,  sweetly. 

"  Law,  now !  my  tales  dey's  sech  ole  tales,"  said  Granny, 
modestly.  "  Ef  yo'  ax  Aunt  Em'ly  now,  ur  Miss  Boogarry,  I 
lay  (wager)  dat  yo'  git  er  tale  yo'  kin  putt  by  in  yo'  membunce 
(memory)  medout  a-grugin'  de  room  hit  tek  up." 

A  chorus  of  protests  from  the  parties  so  honourably 
mentioned. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Granny,  at  length,  "  ef  yo'  sesso,  I  gwine  ter 
mek  de  start,  den  de  res'  mus'  foller  wid  dey  tales.  I  fetch  on 
de  pone  (maize  bread),  de  res'  fetch  in  de  sweetnin'. 

Having  thus  poetically  defined  her  rank,  and  at  the  same 
time  paid  her  friends  a  compliment,  Granny  filled  her  mouth 


16  OLD  RABBIT,   THE   VOODOO, 

with  smoke,  blew  it  out  through  her  nostrils  like  an  amiable 

dragon  and  began  : 

"  In  de  good  ole  times  w'en  de  trees  an'  de  beasts  wuzn't 
feard  ter  talk  foh  fear  o'  bein'  sot  ter  work,  dey  use  ter  be  a 
heap  o'  spressifyin'  (expressing  opinions)  in  de  woods.  Special 
dat  wuz  de  way  mungst  de  bee-trees,1  kase  (because)  dey  wuz 
feelin'  mighty  sweet  an'  peart  wid  dey  eensides  all  fill  up  wid 
honey  in  de  comb.  De  trees  wid  honey  in  dey  hollers  wuz  all 
sot  up,  lak  chilluns  (children)  whut  am  got  de  sugah-tit  in  dey 
moufs,  or  sugah-plums  in  dey  braid-bastets  (bread  baskets — 
stomachs).  Dat's  de  way  dey  wuz.  Dey  wuz  thes  (just)  dat 
high  in  dey  tops  dat  day  mos'  fegit  dey  use  ter  be  nuttin  but 
saplin's  a-switchin'  in  de  wind,  an'  atter  dat  ole  holler  logs 
twell  de  ole  king  ob  de  bees,  he  say  unter  de  new  swa'm  dat 
came  off,  '  Git  in  dis  tree  !  '  Oh,  yes  !  de  favounfoy  o'  de  ole 
king,  dey  jounce  dey  limbs  up  an'  down  an'  fluster  dey  leabes  a 
heap,  des  de  same  ez  fine  ladies  toss  dey  heads  an'  swish  dey 
skyurts." 

"  Oh,  Granny  !  what  does  the  king  look  like  ?  Did  you  ever 
see  him?" 

"  Now  !  Dat  show  yo'  ain't  ne'er  seen  'im,  an'  dat  suttinly  am 
a  shame,  kase  he's  de  finest  king  a-gwine,  He  am  brown  lak 
de  bees  deyse'f,  an?  he  eyes  am  des  de  colour  ob  honey,  an'  he 
ain't  got  no  haV  on  he  head,  an'  he  nose  an'  he  eyebrows  an'  he 
eye-winkers  bin  mek  out  o'  stone,  an' — oh,  my  ! — he  got  er 
crown  on  he  HI  bald  head  mek  out  o'  bummle-bees  ez  long  ez 
brack-buhds  (black-birds)  an'  all  a-stannin'  up  on  dey  tails." 

"  Oh,  Granny  !  "  breathed  Tow  Head,  squeezing  her  knee  in 
her  two  little  hands  because  she  must  do  something,  or  die  of 
a  repressed  ecstasy  of  satisfaction  and  anticipation. 

"  Sidesen  (besides)  dat,"  continued  Granny,  with  the  unelated 
air  of  genius  conscious  of  its  own  powers,  "  I  ain't  done  name 
ter  yo'  dat  he  got  er  mighty  quare  suit  o'  close  (clothes)  mek 
1  Bee-trees,  those  which  bees  inhabit. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  17 

out  o'  bee  wings  ;  nur  I  ain't  say  dat  he  kyar  (carry)  round  er 
long  paw-paw  stick  wid  er  whustle  in  de  eend  foh  ter  whustle 
de  bees  back  ter  wuhk  (work)  w'en  dey  go  a-traipsin'  (strolling) 
off,  a-playin'  in  de  field  stiddier  (instead)  o'  tending  ter  bizniz. 
Oh,  he  wuz  de  fine  genterman,  suz  !  He  uster  go  a-paradin' 
thu  the  woods  an'  a-hyeahin'  (hearing)  eb'ry  libbin'  ting  dat  de 
cnttuz  (creatures)  wuz  up  ter,  eb'ry  ting,  kase  he  c'd  hear  de 
grass  grow  an'  de  fedders  a-sproutin'  on  de  HI  young  buhds  in 
de  nest,  let  'lone  de  sbrftes'  whispeh  dat  kin  be  talked.  One 
time — 'twuz  de  night  time  an'  de  big  clouds  wuz  a-rollin'  in  de 
sky — ole  king,  he  stop  by  de  big  oak  dat  got  two  hollers  an'  two 
swa'ms  o'  bees.  Now,  dat  oak  he  bin  mighty  proud  dat  he  sich 
a  favourzfe  dat  he  got  two  swa'ms  w'en  de  rest  o'  de  trees,  dey 
ain't  got  but  one,  but,  at  de  same  time,  he  allus  bin  sorter  high- 
strung  (high-tempered),  an'  now  he  gittin'  ole  he  wuz  dat 
cranky  an'  cross  !  Ole  king,  he  lissen  foh  ter  see  how  de  queen- 
bee  behavin'  'erself  in  dar.  She  wuz  'havin'  mighty  nice  time,  but 
ole  oak,  he  grummle  an'  grummle.  He  say,  *  I  des  sick  an'  tired 
ob  dese  bees  gwine  hum  !  hum  !  twell  (till)  Ise  plum  'stractid. 
Fust  dis  side  !  den  dat  side  ! — hum  !  hum  !  hum  !  Hit's  wuss 
den  de  locust  wid  dey  hollerin',  ah-zee,  ah-zee,  ah-zee,  w'en  de 
sun  Stan's  high.  An'  I  don't  lak  dat  honey — sweetnin'  a-ropin' 
around  an'  a-dribblin'  out  on  my  bahk  (bark)  an'  'tractin'  de 
bugs  an'  varmints,  dat  I  don't !  Ise  a  mine  to  drap  whole  heaps 
o'  bittah  sap  on  ter  'em  some  o'  dese  days,  dat  I  has  !  ' 

"  W'en  de  ole  king  hyeah  dat,  he  wuz  des  ez  mad  ez  fiah 
(fire).  He  mek  one  grab,''  cried  Granny,  raising  her  voice  and 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word  so  effectively  that  all  her  hearers 
jumped,  and  Tow  Head  screamed  in  addition,  "  an'  he  scoof  dis 
lot  c'  bees  out  o'  de  oak  wid  one  hand,  an'  nurr  grab  an'  scoof 
dat  lot  wid  turr  hand,  an' — him ! — he  gin  dat  servigrous 
(fractious)  ole  tree  des  one  peck  wid  dat  big  stone  nose  o'  hissen 
a',  de  laws  an'  de  Ian' !  dat  ole  oak  bin  petterfactid.  Hit  bin 
mek  in  ter  stone  thu  an'  thu.  Dat  am  sholy  de  fack  kase  I'm 

3 


18  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

got  a  piece  ob  er  tree  dat  bin  done  dataway,  my  ownse'lf  an'  lo 
an'  beholes  !  hyeah  'tis,  dis  same  piece  dat  I  rub  ginst  my  arm 
w'en  hit  git  de  rheumatiz  ;  hit  mighty  good  fer  dat." 

"  Oh,  granny  !  "  burst  in  Tow  Head,  "  is  that  a  piece  of  the 
very  same  tree  you've  been  telling  about  ?  " 

"  Hit's  des  ez  possumble  ez  not  dat  hit  is,"  said  Granny, 
gravely.  "Ef  'twuzn't  dat  tree  hit  come  fum,  hit  bin  one  dat 
wuz  cotch  (caught)  de  same  way." 

"  Dat's  so,"  agreed  Aunt  Mymee,  rousing  up.  "  Dey  use  ter 
be  heaps  o'  dem  stone  trees  round  in  de  kyentry  (country),  an' 
dey  all  bin  sarve  dataway  kase  dey  wuz  sassy  ter  de  king,  ur 
he  tuck  up  de  notion  dey  wuz." 

"  Granny,  dear,  sweet,  sugar-pie  Granny,  please,  please, 
PLEASE,  let  me  hold  that  stone  in  my  hand  a  minute.  I'll 
be  very  careful." 

"De  aigs  is  all  did,"  announced  Aunt  Mary,  to  create  a 
diversion,  for  she  knew  Granny  would  never  trust  that 
precious  piece  of  petrified  wood  so  near  Aunt  Mymee  as 
Tow  Head's  eager  hands  were  at  that  moment. 

"  Den  we  gwine  ter  eat  um  hot,"  said  Granny,  briskly. 
"  Fetch  um  ter  de  table,  Aunt  Mary,  w'iles  I  fish  out  de  res' 
ob  dat  cawn-pone  (corn  bread)  an'  er  smidgin  o'  cole  bile  shoat 
(piece  of  cold  pork)." 

"  May  I  have  two  eggs,  Aunt  Mary  ?  " 

"  Oh  1  honey,  yo'  can't  hab  none,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  as  she 
set  the  dish  of  eggs  on  the  table.  "  Yo'  ma,  she  say  dat  ef  yo' 
git  sumpin  'sides  milk,  ur  mush-an'-'lasses  out  hyeah,  she  ain' 
gwine  ter  let  yo'  come  no  mo'.  Ain'  she  say  dat,  Aunt 
Mymee  ?  " 

"  O'  co'se,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  "  but  dat  ain't  no  diffunce. 
Missey  don't  want  no  aig.  She  wuz  des  a-projeckin'  wid  yo', 
wuzn't  yo',  missey  ? "  she  asked,  turning  her  charge's  face 
around  in  her  hands  and  smiling  insinuatingly. 

"  I  wasn't !  I  want  an  egg  !  I  want  two  eggs — big  ones,  too  1  " 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  19 

"  No,  no,  honey  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  too  !  and  you're  a  mean,  hateful  old  thing. 
You're  all  mean,  hateful  old  things,"  continued  Tow  Head, 
noting  the  resolved  expression  of  her  friends.  "  I  don't  like 
you  ;  I  don't  like  anybody  in  this  cabin." 

"  I  reckon  I  mought  ez  well  tek  de  chile  back  ter  de  house," 
said  Aunt  Mymee,  thoughtfully.  "  She  feelin'  so  mighty 
'bused  dat  she  betteh  hed  go  lay  de  case  'fo'  huh  ma." 

Instantly  Tow  Head's  demeanour  changed.  That  veiled 
threat  of  conducting  her  into  the  presence  of  her  parent  was 
as  potent  as  soothing-syrup.  The  presence  of  mamma  meant 
bath  and  bed.  Tow  Head's  aversion  to  water  was  equal  to 
a  mediaeval  saint's,  and  she  had  long  ago  resolved  that  when 
she  was  grown  she  would  never,  never  go  to  bed  again  ;  if  she 
could  have  heard  a  voice  cry,  u  Sleep  no  more,"  she  would 
have  received  the  mandate  in  a  very  different  spirit  from  that 
which  animated  the  breast  of  the  Thane  of  Cawdor.  "  I  was 
just  funning,  Aunt  Mymee,"  she  declared,  with  an  embarrassed 
giggle. 

Peace  was  restored.  The  supper,  served  in  Granny's  best 
china,  progressed  with  that  tranquillity  and  steadiness  peculiar 
to  well-cared-for  cows  and  ancient  dames. 

When  the  last  egg  was  eaten,  the  last  bone  picked,  the  debris 
cleared  away,  and  pipes  were  restored,  Aunt  Mary  announced 
with  a  perfect  shower  of  grins  that  she  "  des  natchelly  honed 
arter  (yearned  for)  one  o'  Aunt  Em'ly's  tales." 

Aunt  Em'ly  modestly  declined  "  ter  put  fo'th  any  lil  triflin' 
tale  twell  Miss  Boogarry  done  tole  sumpin  wuth  w'iles." 

When  Big  Angy  felt  disposed  to  talk  she  needed  no  urging  ; 
when  she  was  in  a  mood  for  silence  she  heeded  no  importunity. 
This  evening  was  one  of  her  times  for  communicating,  so, 
without  any  make-believe  bashfulness  or  preliminary  angling 
for  compliments,  she  told  the  story  of  "  The  Snake's 
Daughters." 


20  OLD  RABBIT,  THE   VOODOO, 

It  was  a  very  long  story  as  she  told  it,  and  plentifully  gar- 
nished with  original  comments,  given  in  language  that  set  at 
nought  all  known  rules  for  the  personal  pronoun,  first  person 
singular.  The  nominative  u  me  "  and  objective  "  I "  of  her 
discourse  added  nothing  to  its  quality  and  much  to  its  quantity, 
so  they  may  well  be  omitted  here,  and  only  the  sum  and 
substance  of  it  all  be  given  as  Tow  Head  repeated  it  in  after 
years  to  other  children  : — 

There  was  once  an  old  witch  who  had  a  snake  for  a  husband, 
and  even  he  was  too  good  for  her.  She  lived  in  a  lodge  by 
a  stream,  and  he  under  a  rock  hard  by,  and  nobody  but  the 
moon  and  the  owl  knew  that  they  were  married.  In  time 
they  had  two  daughters  beautiful  in  the  face  as  the  most 
beautiful  of  maidens,  but  with  cold  and  scaly  bodies.  The 
daughters  played  on  the  land  and  in  the  water,  happily  and 
without  knowing  that  they  were  not  as  other  girls  ;  but  their 
mother  knew,  and  if  strangers  appeared,  covered  them  closely 
with  fine  garments  curiously  embroidered.  When  they  were 
grown  no  man  could  see  them  and  not  love  them,  no  man 
could  touch  them  and  not  hate  them,  so  their  lovers  all  became 
enemies,  and  they  raged  furiously  and  came  to  hate  all  human 
kind.  No  man  took  them  to  his  lodge,  therefore,  in  accordance 
with  their  father's  advice,  they  married  snakes.  After  that 
they  laid  all  day  in  the  sun  and  smiled,  that  they  might  entrap 
the  unwary,  for  each  had  a  poisoned  arrow  given  her  by  her 
father  on  her  wedding  night — an  arrow  endowed  with  such 
deadly  cunning  and  power  that  it  never  failed  to  kill  whosoever 
it  was  aimed  at,  and  always  flew  back  to  its  owner's  hand  after 
it  had  done  its  deadly  work.  Each  had  also  a  bow  strung  with 
her  mother's  hair.  This  bow  told  her  who  was  coming,  and, 
if  he  was  a  charmed  man,  the  one  spot  where  he  could  be 
fatally  struck.  Now,  this  was  very  terrible,  so  after  awhile  all 
knew  of  the  witch's  daughters,  and  hated  them  exceedingly 
because  of  their  hapless  victims.  Everything  in  the  land  went 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  21 

on  very  badly,  for  when  one  place  was  shunned  the  snake's 
daughters  secretly  removed  to  a  new  one.  Finally,  the  king 
of  the  bees  went  by.  He  was  ruler  of  the  trees  as  well  as  the 
bees,  so  those  bows  of  wood  dared  give  no  warning  of  his 
approach,  nor  tell  his  name  and  title,  for  he  held  up  his  hand 
before  them  in  token  of  silence.  The  strings  of  the  bows  hissed 
like  serpents,  but  that  told  nothing  but  that  an  enemy  was  by. 

When  the  sisters  saw  him  they  smiled  and  beckoned. 

He  approached,  smiling  in  turn.  Instantly  they  fitted  the 
venomed  arrows  to  the  strings,  but  the  bows  bent  like  grass 
and  the  arrows  fell.  Hissing  louder  than  the  bowstrings,  the 
sisters  picked  up  the  arrows  and  flung  them  like  darts. 

The  strange,  ugly  man  before  them  laughed  till  the  sky  and 
the  earth  rang  with  the  sound,  and  caught  the  arrows  in  his 
hands. 

When  the  sisters  saw  their  weapons  were  powerless  they 
tried  to  fly,  but  were  given  no  time  to  get  away,  for  the  king 
had  a  stone  nose,  and  the  breath  from  it  worked  enchantment. 
He  breathed  on  the  arrows,  and  flung  them  at  the  sisters. 
They  were  pierced  to  the  heart,  but  did  not  die  as  women  do. 
From  their  wounded  bodies  came  no  blood,  only  water, 
stagnant  and  dark.  As  it  poured  out  they  fell.  Their  fall 
was  heavy,  the  ground  shook  under  them,  the  trees  near  by 
staggered  as  if  their  roots  were  loosened  from  the  soil.  Where 
the  sisters  fell  they  laid.  No  one  buried  them,  but  no  matter, 
they  did  not  harm  the  air.  Their  father  and  mother  did  not 
bury  them  because  they  did  not  know  where  they  were,  and 
did  not  find  them  for  a  long  time  ;  neither  did  their  husbands  ; 
but  the  birds  did,  and  the  wolves  and  the  worms ;  nevertheless, 
none  of  these  creatures  molested  them.  The  reason  was,  the 
sisters  were  changed  into  stone  by  their  own  arrows.  Many 
have  seen  them,  and  know  this  to  be  true. 

Granny  nodded  approvingly. 

"  Dat  am  er  mighty  fine  tale,"   she  said,  turning  her  face 


22  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO, 

from  the  fire  to  her  friend,  and  puffing  tobacco-smoke  about 
her  like  incense. 

41 1  seso,  too,"  chimed  in  Aunt  Mymee,  with  animation. 
"  Am  dat  de  tale  yo'  laid  off  ter  tell  arter  frost  'way  back 
yondeh  in  de  summer-time,  Miss  Boogarry  ?  " 

"  Dat  him,"  replied  Big  Angy.  "  De  Lawd  know  me  tell 
no  tale  de  lil  booggers  is  froze  up  in  de  ground.  I  de  one  dat 
know  hit  gwine  ter  bring  bad  luck  ef  so  dey  hyeah  me  tell 
tales  on  um."  x 

"  Dey  is  cu'us  'bout  dat.  I  ain't  e'er  tell  no  tales  befo'  fros', 
my  own  se'f,"  Mymee  answered. 

"  Now  it's  Aunt  Em'ly's  turn,"  cried  Tow  Head,  impatiently. 
"  Do  go  on,  Aunt  Em'ly,  that's  a  good,  sweet  aunty.  Mamma 
may  call  me  before  you're  through,  if  you  don't  hurry." 

Aunt  Em'ly  smiled  delightedly,  but  hesitated. 

"  Hit's  er  sorter,  kinder  skeery  tale,  honey,"  she  said.  "  Ef  so 
be  dat  yo'  git  all  wuhkt  (worked)  up  an'  a-cryin/  yo'  ma  gwine 
ter  lick  ole  Em'ly." 

"  'Twon't  hurt  but  a  minute,  if  she  does,"  said  Tow  Head, 
with  an  air  of  knowledge  born  of  experience. 

"  Missey's  des  a-projeckin',"  said  Granny,  jealous  of  the 
family.  "  Dat  chile  ain't  nurr  yit  feel  de  weight  ob  no  han' 
in  de  worP.  Huh  !  I  t'ink  I  see  Miss  Agnes  a-whuppin' 
chilluns.  Miss  Agnes  ain't  come  o*  no  wuhkin'  (working) 
fambly.  She  ain't  got  no  strenk  (strength)  in  huh  lil  wristes 
(her  little  wrists)." 

Tow  Head  had  neither  dignity  nor  family  pride.  Her 
mother's  adherence  to  the  precepts  of  Solomon  she  considered 
a  joke.  Her  answer  to  Granny  was  a  meaning  smile  and  a 
closing  of  her  eyelids. 

"  Hurry  up,  Aunt  Em'ly,"  she  said.    "  Tell  an  old,  old  story." 

1  This  tale  appears  to  be  of  Red  Indian  origin.  The  habit  of  never  telling 
Stories  till  after  the  first  frost  is  widely  spread  among  the  American-Indians,  and 
certainly  never  could  have  come  from  Africa. — CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  23 

"  Tell  nurr  ole  tale  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Em'ly,  valiantly  sup- 
pressing a  chuckle  at  Granny's  discomfiture.     "  Well,  de  laws 
he'p  my  soul  !     Ef  yo'  ain't  the  beatenest  chile.     I  s'pect  yo' 
reckon  ole  Aunt  Em'ly  des  mek  out  o'  ole  tales,  des  kase  she 
ole  she  own  se'f.     I  lay  I  done  tell  yo'  moj  a'ready  den  yo'  HI 
membunce  kin  tote  (memory  can  carry).     Howsomedevvah,  er 
tale  I  done  promiss  an'  er  tale  I  gwine  ter  tell,  an'  hit  gwine 
ter  run  'bout  the  aspums  (aspens),  wid  de  'count  ob  de  way  dat 
hit  happen  dat  dey  be  'way  up  de  hillside  'stid  o'  down  in  de 
sandbank  whah  dey  use  ter  be.     H-m  !  h-m  ! — whut  wuz  I 
gwinter  say  next  ?     'Pears  lak  I  done  fegit  sumpin.     Lemme 
scratch  dis  hyeah  ole  noggin  (head)  an'  see  ef  hit  be  so  I  kin 
scratch  up  dat  'count  o'  dem  trees  an'  de  bee-king.     Uh-huh  ! 
— oh,  yes  ! — now  I  got  um  !     Hit  bin  dishaways  : — In  dem  ole 
times  dat  wuz  such  a  mighty  mich  (much)  betteh  den  ourn  am 
ebbeh  gwine  foh  ter  dare  foh  to  set  up  ter  be,  de  ole  bee-king  wuz 
a-rampagin'  eround  an'  car'in'  t'ings  wid  er  mighty  high  han'. 
Co'se  he  wuz !     Wuzn't  he  a-ownin'  all  de  woods  an'  all  de 
bees — honey-bees,  bummle-bees,  sweat-bees  an'  all  ;  an'  wuzn't 
dey  des  miles  an'  miles  ob  de  woodses  in  dem  days,  an'  all  de 
trees  in  de  woodses  des  chock-full  an'  a-runnin'  ober  wid  de 
finest  kind  o'  honey  ?      W'y,  my  chilluns,  de  hunks    ob  de 
comb  wuz  ez  big   round  ez  de  top  o'  er  cawn-bastet  (corn- 
basket),  an'  dem  lil  vidgins  (divisions)  o'  de  comb  wuz  ez  long 
ez  dis  hyeah  fingeh,  an'   'most  ez  big  round  ez  one  o'  dem 
chancy  teacups  yondeh.     De  ole  bee-king  wuz  mighty  high- 
steppin'  an'  proud  'bout  dat  time,  an'  he  do  des  prezackly  ez 
he  a-mineter  (precisely  as  he  was  of  a  mind  to).     Ef  he  feel  lak 
fillin'  ole  holler  tree  wid  honey-bees,  he  fill  um  ;  ef  he  don't,  he 
lef  um  foh  de  squir'ls.     Now,  some  de  trees,  mo'  special  de 
cottonwoods,  don't  lak  dat,  don't  lak  dat  V^/7,  but  dey  know 
'nough,  bress  Moses  !  dat  dey  don't  say  nuttin'.     One  time, 
dough,  w'en  de  lil  willers,  an'  de  lil  young  cottonwoods,  an'  de 
cattails,  an'  de  flags  down  anigh  de  ribber  (river),  git  a-chattin' 


24  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

'bout  dis  an'  dat  an'  turr  t'ing,  dem  cattails  'low  hit  kine  o' 
quare  dat  w'en  the  woods  all  round  is  des  a-bustin'  wid  honey, 
an'  some  o'  de  trees  got  much  ez  two  swa'ms  in  um,  hit  kine 
o'  quare  dat  none  o'  de  ole  willers  an'  cottonwoods  got  no 
swa'ms  whatsomedevveh.  Dat  rile  de  cottonwoods,  an'  dey 
fling  up  dey  leabes  lak  es  ef  hit  gwine  ter  rain,  an'  dey  mek 
lak  dey  gwine  ter  tek  up  foh  dey  'lations  ;  but  de  willers  dey 
mo*  careful,  an'  dey  sorter  simper  out,  '  Hu-ush,  hu-ush,'  ter  de 
cottonwoods,  an'  so  all  hands  let  de  'miration  o'  dem  mischevy- 
ous  flags  an'  cattails  pass  by.  Well  !  so  hit  go  dat  time,  but 
toreckly  dem  ornery,  gabblin'  weeds  tuk  de  text  ergin.  '  Whut 
de  bee-king  got  'gin  yo'  daddies  an'  mammies  dat  they  don't 
hab  no  bees  an'  honey  ?  '  dey  say.  Dat  rile  dem  young  cotton- 
woods,  an'  dey  des  gwine  ter  say  sumpin  sassy,  w'en  de  willers 
dat  wuz  ol'er  an'  not  nigh  so  high-strung  (high-tempered),  dey 
simper  out  ergin,  *  Hu-ush,  hu-ush  ! '  des  lak  de  win'  wuz  a- 
stirrin'  in  dey  leabes,  kase  day  don't  want  dat  de  flags  an'  de 
cattails  hyeah  um.  Dat  pass  by,  an'  dey  all  tork  'bout  dis  an' 
dat,  an'  lis'en  at  de  buhds  (birds)  gwine,  '  Cheer-up  !  cheer-up  ! 
peep  !  peep  !  '  ez  dey  mek  dey  reddymints  foh  baid  (prepara- 
tions for  bed).  Toreckly  de  flags  an'  de  cattails  at  hit  ergin. 
'  Am  yo'  folks  so  mighty  onsound  in  de  bahk  dat  dey  kyarn't 
be  trustid  ter  hole  no  honey  ?  Is  dey  maggitty,  ur  w'at  ?  '  say 
dem  pesterin'  weeds.  At  dat  dem  forrid  an'  biggitty  young 
cottonwoods  des  tuhn  deyse'f  loose,  dey  did,  an'  my  Ian' !  sech 
busemints  dey  'wuz  nebber  de  likin's  ob  sence  de  worl*  wuz 
made.  Dey  'buse  de  ole  king,  dey  say  dey  'spise  the  bees,  dey 
ain't  got  no  use  foh  honey,  an'  sidesen  dat,  heap  mo',  I  dunno 
des  wut.  Den  w'en  dey  git  dat  off  dey  mine,  dey  whirl  in  an' 
gib  de  flags  an'  de  cattails  one  good  tounge-lashin'  foh  dey 
imp'ence  in  axin'  ef  the  ole  cottonwoods  bin  er  lot  o'  no-'count 
ole  half-strainers.  Oh,  dey  des  lit  inter  dem  flags  an'  cattails  ! 
— V  sarve  um  right  too,  fur  ez  dat  go,  but  dey  ain't  bin  strong 
in  de  haid  (head),  dem  young  cottonwoods  ain't,  w'en  dey 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  25 

don't  lef  ole  bee-king  out  o'  dat  disco'se.  Co'se  de  flags  an' 
de  cattails  tole  'im  all  dat  de  cottonwoods  say,  an'  ar  plenty  mo' 
dey  ain't  say  'tall — dat  allus  de  way  wid  de  tattlin'  o'  dat  kine 
o'  trash.  Well,  den  !  old  king,  he  come  down  dar,  des  a-rippin' 
an'  a-snortin'.  He  'low  he  gvvine  ter  peterfy  dat  crowd — an'  de 
Good  Lawd  know  dat  he  c'd  do  dat  berry  same,  ef  so  be  he 
could  a-cotch  um,  but  dat  de  pint  !  Dem  young  trees  mighty 
soople,  an'  dey  seen  'im  a-comin'.  Dey  run,  dey  did — run  lak 
de  Ole  Boy  (Devil)  wuz  arter  um,  an'  he  run  lak  de  Ole  Boy 
hisse'f,  twell  he  chase  um  plum  outen  ribber-botton  an'  'cross 
de  perarer  (prairie),  an'  up  de  lil  hills,  clean  ter  de  flat  place  'twixt 


"  HE    RUN    LAK    DE   OLE   BOY    HISSE'F." 

de  lil  hills  an'  de  big  ones.  Dar  he  lef  um,  kase  dat  wuz  out  o' 
his  kyentry,  an'  mighty  close  ter  Tundah  (Thunder)  Land.1 
Dar  he  lef  um,  an'  dar  dey  is  ;  but,  po'  t'ings  !  dey  ain't  ne'er 
grow  no  mo'.  Dey  wuz  skeered  outen  dey  growth,  an'  dey 
wuz  skeered  twell  dey  bahk  tuhn  pale.  Mo'n  dat— dey  wuz 
skeered  twell  dey  leabes  trimmle,  trimmle,  des  lake  de  wind 
wuz  a-blowin'  mungs  um,  w'en  de  win'  ain't  blowin',  not  de 
least  lil  teenty,  tinty  bref.  Dat  the  way  dey  do  yit,  all  de 
time.  Dey  don't  git  dey  colour  back,  ter  dis  day,  in  dey  bahk, 

1  Thunder-land  is  apparently  of  Algonkin-Indian  origin. — C.  G.  L. 


26  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

an'  dey  trimmle,  trimmle,  night  an'  day.  Big  wind,  lil  wind, 
no  wind  'tall,  dey  trimmle,  trimmle,  trimmle." 

u  How  did  their  name  get  changed  to  *  aspens,'  Aunt 
Em'ly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  go  'long,  chile !  Hit  bin  change,  dat  all  we  'bleeged 
ter  know.  Ef  some  folks  change  dey  name  an'  dey  ain't  no 
'miration  'bout  hit,  whyso  kyarn't  some  trees  ?  Ef  yo'  bound 
ter  know,  ax  Miss  Boogarry.  Wen  I  fust  knowed  'er,  she  wuz 
call  Angelique  Beaumais,  now  she  Miss  Boogarry.  'Splain 
dat,  den  I  'splain  how  cottonwood  tuhn  aspum." 

Tow  Head  looked  at  Big  Angy. 

Big  Angy  looked  at  the  fire,  and  seemed  about  as  likely  to 
make  satisfactory  explanations  as  a  totem  pole. 

The  youngster  gave  up  in  despair,  and  turned  her  mind  to 
actions  instead  of  names. 

"That  was  a  beautiful  story,"  she  said,  approvingly,  a  but 
are  you  quite,  quite  sure  it's  all  true  ?  My  mamma  read  to  me 
once  that  aspen  leaves  tremble  because  our  Saviour's  cross  was 
made  of  wood  from  that  tree,  and  the  poor  thing  has  trembled 
ever  since  that  first  Good  Friday." 

"  Like  ez  not,  like  ez  not,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  with  the 
magnanimity  of  one  great  mind  towards  another.  "  I  ain't 
'sputin'  de  word  ob  him  dat  mek  yo'  ma's  book  ;  but  ain't  yo' 
fegit,  honey,  dat  dese  aspums  ob  mine  bin  young  aspums,  an' 
dat  un  dat  bin  mek  inter  de  cross  must  a-bin  er  ole  un,  kase 
hit  'u'd  tek  er  mighty  big  tree  ter  mek  the  cross  dat  hilt  up  de 
Good  Lawd  A'mighty." 

This  seemed  reasonable  to  Tow  Head.  She  thought  about 
it  a  long  time.  The  flames  roared  in  the  chimney,  the  aunties 
talked,  smoked,  and  sang,  but  she  interrupted  them  no  more. 
Presently  the  flames  twisted  into  snakes,  the  blackened  rafters 
swayed  like  trees  in  a  hurricane,  the  bee-king  came  out  from 
behind  a  tall  cupboard  and  gave  her  head  a  push  that  nearly 
threw  her  out  of  Aunt  Mymee's  lap. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  27 

"  Ef  dat  chile  ain't  drapped  off  ter  sleep,  an'  I  ain't  noduss 
hit  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Mymee. 

The  snakes,  the  trees,  the  king,  all  vanished. 

"  I  wasn't  asleep  ;  indeed  I  was  not." 

"  All  right,  honey  ;  but  I'll  des  tote  yo'  up  ter  de  house  so 
dat  in  case  yo'  do  git  er  mine  foh  er  nap  (a  mind  for  a  nap),  de 
baid'll  be  handy." 

So  Tow  Head  was  carried  away.  As  she  and  her  "  charmer  " 
went  toward  "The  House,"  Aunt  Mymee  sang  this  song, 
which  the  child  considered  entirely  too  summery  for  such 
frosty  weather  : — 

"  De  peaches  am  ripe  by  de  ole  souf  wall. 
O,  honey,  don't  yo'  hyeah  me  ? 
Dat  yal-ler  gal,  she  shuffle  an'  call. 
O,  honey,  don't  yo'  hyeah  me  ? 

O,  come  ter  de  haht  (heart)  dat  lub  yo'  so  I 
Come,  honey,  come  !     Do  yo'  hyeah  me? 
O,  come  to  the  haht  that  lub  yo'  so  ! 
Come,  honey,  come  !     Do  yo'  hyeah  me  ? 

I  tuck  holt  de  limb  ter  grab  yo'  er  peach. 
O,  honey,  don't  yo'  hyeah  me  ? 
De  plumpes'  ones,  dey  growed  out  o'  reach. 
O,  honey,  don't  yo'  hyeah  me  ? 

O,  come  ter  de  haht  dat  lub  yo'  so  ! 
Come,  honey,  come  !     Do  yo'  hyeah  me? 
O,  come  ter  de  haht  dat  lub  yo'  so ! 
Come,  honey,  come  !     Do  yo'  hyeah  me? 

Hit's  des  lak  clis  all  troo  my  life. 
O,  honey,  don't  yo'  hyeah  me? 
De  gal  I  want  won't  be  my  wife. 
O,  honey,  don't  yo'  hyeah  me? 

O,  come  ter  de  haht  that  lub  yo'  so  ! 
Come,  honey,  come  !     Do  yo'  hyeah  me? 
O,  come  ter  de  haht  dat  lub  yo'  so  ! 
Come,  honey,  come  !     Do  yo'  hyeah  me  ?  " 

"Don't  say  any  more  about  honey,"  whimpered  Tow  Head, 
sleepily.  "  I'm  afraid  the  bee-king  will  get  after  us." 


H. 

CONCERNING  A  GOOSE,  A  BLUEBIRD,  AND  OTHER 
FOWLS  OF  THE  AIR. 

THE  evening  was  cold  and  gloomy,  so  much  so  that  Granny, 
when  she  went  to  the  door  to  welcome  Aunt  Em'ly,  remarked 
that  the  night  was  dark  as  the  north-west  corner  of  a  nigger's 
pocket,  and  that  she  smelt  snow  in  the  air. 

Aunt  Em'ly  stumbled  in,  puffing  and  blowing. 
"De  wild  geese  is  a-kickin'  up  er  turrible  ruction,"  she 
panted.  "  Dey's  a-headin'  souf  ez  hahd  (hard)  ez  dey  kin  flap,  an' 
a-squallin'  wuss'n  er  yaller-laig  rooster  wid  er  litter  o'  pups 
a-chasin'  'im.  Dey's  a-flyin'  low  too,  an'  dat  means  fallin' 
wedder,  ez  well  ez  de  way  dey  go  mean  cole  (cold)." 

"  Dat's  de  sakid  (sacred)  troof,"  assented  Granny.  "  Oh  !  I 
knowedhit  wuz  a-comin',  kase  I  seed  demole  win'-splittehs  (wind- 
splitter) — the  name  in  the  vernacular  of  a  species  of  long,  lean  hog 
that  ranges  half-wild,  and  feeds  on  the  mast  in  the  oak  woods  of 
Missouri),  kyarin'  (carrying)  straws  ter  dey  beds,  two,  free  days 
back.  Sidesen  dat,  de  breas'-bone  ob  de  goose  we  hed  yestiddy, 
hit  wuz  all  motly  wid  w'ite  spots.  Co'se,  ef  de  wedder  promuss 
fair  dat  bone  u'd  a-bin  fa'r,  an'  ef  hit  promuss  rain  dat  bone  u'd 
a-bin  dahk  an'  motly.  Dat  bone  say,  '  snow  ^  plain  ! — an'  snow 
hit  boun'  ter  come." 

"  Hit  mighty  quare  'bout  dem  gooses,"  giggled  Aunt  Mary 
in  the  faces  of  her  serious  elders. 

"  Whut  mighty  quare  ?  "  inquired  Granny,  severely. 

"  How  dem  gooses  is  good  foh  ter  tell  de  wedder,  ef  so  dey  be 


OLD  RABBIT,   THE   VOODOO.  29 

libbin',  ur  so  dey  be  daid.  Libbin',  or  daid,  dey  tells  de  wedder 
— pintedly." 

"So  dey  does,  so  dey  does,"  agreed  Aunt  Em'ly,  taking  out 
her  pipe  and  lighting  it  by  a  coal  she  picked  from  the  hearth 
in  her  bare  fingers.  "  Gooses  is  smart.  Dey  'zerves  er  heap  o' 
credick  dey  don't  ne'er  git.  Den  ergin,"  she  continued  reflec- 
tively, "  dey  ack  des  ez  foolish  ez  de  folks  dat  name  arter  um, 
an'  den  dey  git  dey  come-uppunce  (deserts)  des  lak  folks,  too. 
I  wuz  tuhnin'  er  case  lak  dat  in  my  mine  ezl  wuz  a-joggin'  thu 
de  bresh  dis  ebenin'." 

"  Tell  it,  Aunt  Em'ly,  tell  it  right  now  !  " 

It  was  Tow  Head,  who  spoke  from  the  billowy  depths  of 
Granny's  feather  bed. 

Aunt  Em'ly  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  and  looked 
at  the  small  damsel  with  a  quizzical  eye. 

"  Whutcher  bin  a-doin',  missey  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  lay  dey's 
er  peach-tree  lim'  ripe  fob  er  lil  gal  'bout  yo'  size  up  ter  de  house." 

"  'Taint  nuttin  wuss'n  tumblin'  inter  de  big  watteh-buckets 
dis  time,"  said  Granny.  "  Hit  mought  easy  a-bin  wuss'n  dat, 
dough  ;  some  folks,  dey  rampage  round  so.  Ef  yo'  know  er 
tale  'bout  good  chilluns,  Aunt  Em'ly,  hit  won't  huht  none  dat 
yo'  tell  hit,  w'iles  dis  chile's  close  am  a-dryin'." 

"  Dat  ain't  my  tale,  Aunt  Jinny.  De  tale  I  hab  in  ban's  am 
de  tale  of  de  meddlin',  mischevyous  goose  dat  done  got  change 
inter  er  chicken-louse  'pun  'count  o'  he  foolishness." 

"  Tell  um,  Aunt  Em'ly,  tell  um  !  "  cried  Aunt  Mymee,  from 
her  seat  by  the  fire,  as  she  shook  and  turned  a  damp  little  red 
flannel  dress  and  anxiously  felt  of  its  tucks  and  gathers. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  BAD  GOOSE. 

"  Ef  'twuz  er  goose  dat  clumb  evvurwhurs  dat  hits  mammy 
say  hit  mustn't,  ef  'twuz  er  goose  dat  putt  'lasses  in  hits  daddy's 
slippers,  an'  waked  up  de  baby-gooses,  an'  slipped  hits  gran'ma's 
specs,  an'  busted  um  an'  let  all  de  bran  outen  de  big  pin-cushom 


3o  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

in  de  spare  room,  an'  dug  de  eyes  outen  hits  wax  doll  dat  wuz 
brung  unter  hit  clean  fum  Ole  Feginny,  Ise  des  a-honin* 
(yearning)  ter  know  de  awful  jedgeraz/z/  dat  come  'pun  dat  goose." 

There  was  an  uneasy  stirring  among  the  feathers,  but  nobody 
said  anything,  so  Aunt  Ern'ly  proceeded  to  tell  the  fate  of  the 
goose. 

"  Wunst,  in  de  ole  times,  dey  wuz  er  fine  ole  wild  goose  dat 
riz  er  heap  o'  goslin's,  an'  dem  goslin's,  dey  wuz  all  good  an' 
mind  dey  ma  (their  mother)  ceppin  one,  but  dat  one,  mineyo',  wuz 
turribler  den  er  whole  fambly  o'  des  middlin'  bad  goslin's.  He 
des  wuz  er  limb  o'  Satan,  dat  he  wuz  !  He  gobble  up  all  de 
greens  ;  he  flounce  in  de  watteh  twell  hit  wuz  all  muddy  an'  riley, 
froo  an'  froo,  an'  he  bite  de  odeh  goslin's  w'en  he  ma  wuzn't  a- 
lookin'.  Oh,  he  des  kyar  on  (behaved)  shameful !  Bimeby,  w'en 
he  grow  up,  he  wuz  de  berry  wussest  t'ing  dat  e'er  flap  er  wing 
o'er  de  ma'sh.  De  geese,  dey  'spise  'im  ;  de  cranes,  dey  'spise  'im  ; 
de  frogs,  dey  'spise  'im  ;  'de  brants  an'  de  ducks  an'  de  pelicans,  de 
snakes  an'  de  wuhms  an'  de  mud-turkles,  dey  all  'spise  'im,  too. 
De  mud-hens,  dey  ain't  noduss  'im,  at  de  fust,  kase  he  got  de 
sense  ter  lef  um  'lone.  Bimeby,  he  git  so  biggitty  (conceited)  dat 
he  'gin  ter  peck  um  on  de  shins  an'  touzle  up  dey  haid-fedders. 
Dat  show  he  suttinly  wuz  er  fool,  kase  dem  mud-hens,  dey  got 
er  ole  granny  w'at  wuz  er  cunjerer  an'  lib  down,  down,  DOWN, 
in  de  deep  yaller  mud  undehneat'  de  watteh.  Well,  dem  mud- 
hens,  dey  don't  want  ter  mek  no  sturvince  (disturbance),  so  dey 
say,  sorter  easy-lak, '  Misteh  Goosey-Gander,  we  des  plain  folks, 
we  ain't  no  jokers,  so  des  please  lef  us  'lone.'  Dey  des  let  on 
lak  dey  t'ink  he  wuz  jokin',  kase  dey  t'ink  dat  mek  hit  easyfoh 
he  ter  'pologise  an'  ax  dey  pardin.  But  hit  don't.  Hit  mek 
'im  mo'  sassy.  He  bite  um  'gin,  dis  time  on  dey  necks  an'  dey 
laigs,  an'  gib  dey  wings  er  pull,  too.  Oh,  he  hit  an'  he  bit 
whatsomedevveh  he  c'd  ketch  a-hold  ! 

"Den  de  ole  witch  corned  up,  des  a-r'arin'  an'  a-pitchin' 
(scolding  and  storming). 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  ^i 

"  '  Whacheh  doin'  unter  my  gran'-chilluns  ?  '  she  holler  out 
dataway  dat  it  fa'r  mek  de  watteh  bile  up.  *  1 1'arn  yo'  mannehs, 
Misteh  Young  Goosey-Gander.' 

"  Wid  dat  she  s-s-s-spit  on  he  back  ! 

"  Dat  se^f  same  minnit  he  'gan  ter  wizzle  (shrink)  an'  wizzle. 
Fust,  he  wizzle  up  ter  de  size  ob  er  duck  ;  den  he  wizzle  ter 
de  size  ob  er  croppy-fish  ;  den  he  wizzle  ter  de  size  ob  er  baby- 
turkle  ;  den  he  wizzle  ter  de  size  ob  er  sand-fly  ;  den  he  wizzle 
ter  de  size  ob  er  chicken-louse  ;  den  he  wuz  er  chicken-louse — 
nuttin  mo'. 

"  '  Dar  now!'  say  de  ole  cunjer-witch,  '  fum  dis  out,  yo' 
gwine  ter  be  peck  at  an'  chase  up  an'  down  by  de  chicken's  bill, 
stiddier  doin'  de  chasin'  an'  werryin'  yo'se'f.' 

"  Dat  wut  happen  sho  'miff.  Wen  yo'  see  de  mud-hens 
come  out  o'  de  watteh  an'  pick,  pick,  picketty  wid  dey  bill  un'- 
neat'  dey  wings  an'  down  in  dey  j'ints  dey  am  a-chasin'  dat  se'f 
same  grey  goose." 

When  the  proper  compliments  had  been  administered  to 
Aunt  Em'ly  by  her  little  circle,  Granny,  with  a  look  toward  the 
occupant  of  her  bed,  announced  that  she  bethought  herself  of 
a  bluebird  story  wherein  was  set  forth  the  rewards  bestowed  by 
Providence  on  u  dem  dat'  'haves  deyse'f  putty  an'  nice  ", 

Tow  Head  cared  nothing  for  innuendoes,  but  she  cared  a 
great  deal  for  stories,  so  with  a  cheerful  air  she  stated  that  she 
was  "  just  dying  to  hear  the  story  of  the  bluebird."  So  were 
the  aunties,  as  they  hastened  to  add. 

Granny,  quite  sure  of  the  sympathy  of  her  audience,  told  the 
following  tale  of — 

How  THE  BLUEBIRD  CAME  BY  HIS  COLOUR. 

"  Hit  mek  me  plum  sick  w'en  I  see  er  norty  chile  a-flingin* 
rocks  at  de  putty  lil  bluebuhd,  kase  dat  buhd  bin  fix  up  out  o* 
er  piece  ob  de  Good  Lawd's  own  heb'n.  Deed  he  is,  hit's  de 


32  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO, 

plain  troof,  and  I  gwine  ter  tell  all  de  fax  an'  de  mattehs  ob  de 
case.  Dishaway  de  way  dat  putty  buhd  git  dat  fine  blue  coat  o' 
hisen,  stiddi  er  dat  ole  grey  un  dat  he  use  ter  w'ar.  One  time 
dey  wuz  er  man  dat  wuz  meaner'n  gyar-broth  (soup  made  of 
the  gar-fish),  pizoned  at  dat  !  an',  in  co'se,  he  pick  out  de  like- 
liest gal  in  de  kyentry,  an'  git  'er,  too  !  Well  den  !  He  des 
ack  skannelous  all  de  time,  an'  de  older  he  grow  de  wuss  he  ack, 
twell  he  git  at  de  pint  ter  dribe  dat  po*  'ooman  an'  huh  (her)  two 
lil  chilluns  plum  off  de  place  an'  out  o'  de  township.  Den,  de  po' 
'stractid  critteh,  she  hundertuck  ter  git  back  ter  huh  own  folks. 
Ter  do  dat  she  'bleeged  ter  go  thu  de  turr'blest  lot  o'  woods  dat 
grow  dat  t'ick  dat  yo'  kyarn't  skursely  see  yo'  hand  befo'  yo' 
face  in  de  daytime,  an'  w'en  hit  come  night — good  Ian'  ! — hit 
bin  mo'  brackeh  (blacker)  in  dar  den  de  eenside  ob  er  witch's 
pottit  (pocket)  in  de  daid  ob  de  cloudy  night.  Well  suz  !  dem 
misfortnit  crittehs,  dey  mek  out  foh  ter  go  good  ways.  Den 
dey  git  lost.  Den  de  chilluns  say — 

"  *  Oh,  mammy,  gimme  sumpin  ter  eat.     I  so  hongry  !  ' 

"  But  she  ain't  got  nuttin,  an'  she  'bleeged  ter  say  so.  She 
a-honin'  arter  vittles  huh  own  se'f  twell  she  fit  ter  drap,  mine 
yo*,  but  she  am'  say  nuttin  'bout  dat. 

"  Arter  w'iles,  dey  say — 

"  *  Oh,  mammy,  I  so  dry,  gimme  des  one  gode  (gourd)  full  ob 
watteh  ! ' 

"  She  'bleeged  ter  say  she  ain't  got  no  watteh.  She  bin 
a-wantin'  er  sup  o'  watteh  dis  long  time  huh  own  se'f,  but  she 
ain'  say  nuttin  'bout  dat. 

u  Den  dey  all  fall  to  an'  dey  hunt  watteh  an'  dey  hunt  watteh, 
an'  dey  hunt  an'  dey  hunt,  but  dey  don't  find  none.  Dey  look 
in  all  de  gullies  an'  'long  side  de  lil  risins,  but  stream  dey  don't 
see,  spring  dey  don't  see.  Arter  dat  dey  hunt  berries.  Heap 
o'  briers  scratch  um,  but  dey  don't  find  one  berry. 

"  Den  dey  set  down  pun  de  ground  an'  cry. 

"  Bimeby,  dey  hyeah  sumpin.     Dey  look  up  sorter  joyful. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  33 

Oh  !  dey  'd  be  proud  ter  see  anybody  'way  out  dar  whah  dey 
a-dyin'  in  de  wilderness. 

"  *  Taint  nuttin,  dat  am,  'taint  nuttin  'cep'  dat  HI  grey  buhd 
a-peepin'  down  fum  de  tree.' 

"  Dey  all  hang  dey  haid  (head)  an*  cry  des  lak  de  rain  wuz 
fallin'  down. 

"  Hih  !  hih  ! — shuh  !  (be  quiet) — wut  dat  ? 

"  Dat  se'f  same  HI  buhd. 

"  Dis  time  dey  take  noduss  dat  hit  say, '  Come !  come  I  come ! f 

"  Hit  say  dat  in  de  sweetes'  way,  an'  hit  look  right  inter  dat 
po'  (poor)  mammy's  eye. 

"  *  Come  !  come  !  come  !  '  dar  'twuz  ergin'  (again). 

" '  Come  on,  chilluns,'  de  mammy  say,  a-jumpin*  up  an' 
a-grabbin'  dem  chillun's  hands.  * Ise  gwine  ter  foller  ef  he  lead.' 

"  Seein'  dat,  de  buhd  struck  out,  a-hoppin'  'long  mighty  slow, 
kase  dem  folks  wuz  weak  an'  hit  know  dat.  Hop,  hop,  hop,  he 
go  an'  'long  dey  foller  arter.  Hop,  hop  ;  foller,  foller.  Bimeby 
all  han's,  dey  come  ter  de  puttiest  HI  spring  a-gugglin'  an' 
a-dribblin'  out.  Dey  drink  an'  dey  drink  ;  den,  hop,  hop, 
ergin  ;  foller,  foller,  ergin.  Den  de  'ooman  an'  de  chilluns  see 
heaps  o1  paw-paws  x  hangin'  ripe  on  de  trees.  Den  po'  starvin' 
crittehs  eats  dey  fill  o'  de  paw-paws. 

"  Den  de  night  come  on. 

"  De  buhd  ain't  fergit  um.  Hit  mek  out  ter  lead  um  ter  er 
big  ole  tree  wid  de  limbs  startin'  out  mighty  low  down  so  dey 
could  climb  hit,  kase  dey  wuz  mons'us  'fraid  ob  de  wolves  an' 
turr  varmints.  Dey  clum  dat  tree,  des  ez  I  tell  yo',  an'  w'en 
dey  reach  de  crotch  dey  stop  dar  an'  go  right  off  ter  sleep,  kase 
dey  wuz  plum  tuckered  (worn)  out. 

"  Nex'  day  dat  buhd  feedum  an'  watteh  (water)  um,  same  lak 
dey  bin  cattle.  Nex'  day  arter  dat,  same  t'ing.  Nex'  day  arter 
dat,  same  t'ing,  an'  so  hit  go,  day  come  in,  day  go  out.  Hit 

1  A  kind  of  wild  fruit,  somewhat  resembling  the  banana  in  taste. 
4 


34  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

tek  keer  o'  um  in  de  night-times,  too.  In  co'se,  hit  do  dat 
a-pintin'  out  de  trees  dey  could  h'ist  (hoist)  deyse'fs  inter. 

"  Well,  at  de  last,  dat  'ooman  an'  de  two  chilluns  com  thu  de 
woods  an'  git  ter  dey  kinfolks,  an'  de  kinfolks  dey  mek  de 
bigges'  kine  ob  er  'miration  o'  er  um,  an'  all  dey  troubles,  dey 
wuz  at  er  eend,  an'  seein'  dat,  de  buhd  flewd  off  an'  nobody 
kyarn't  stop  um. 

"  But  dat  wuzn't  all !  No,  suh  ! — De  Good  Lawd  He  seed 
dat  whole  bizniz  an'  hit  tickle  'Im  so,  dat  right  off,  He  change 
dat  good  HI  buhd's  feddehs  fum  de  dimmes'  kine  o'  grey  ter  de 
bluest  kine  o'  blue,  des  de  same  ez  de  sky,  an'  dat  yo'  kin  prube 
ef  yo'  look  at  de  sky  an'  look  at  dat  buhd,  tuhns  (turn)  an' 
tuhns  erbout," 

With  waiting  a  second  Tow  Head  forestalled  the  comments 
of  her  elders  by  stating  that  Granny's  story  was  as  nice  as  the 
one  about  "  The  Babes  in  the  Woods  "  that  mama  knew.  The 
robins  in  that  story  saw  two  little  children  die  in  the  woods 
and  buried  them  "  bea-u-tifully  "  in  leaves. 

"  Huh  !  betteh  a-feeded  um  an'  a-fetched  um  fo'th  a-libbin'. 
Some  buhds,  des  lak  some  folks,  is  fools.  De  Good  Lawd  ain't 
colour  up  no  robins." 

"  He  did  colour  a  thrush's  eggs — grandma  said  so,"  cried  Tow 
Head,  nettled  at  Granny's  tone,  and  determined  to  tell  some- 
thing to  equal  the  story  of  Bluebird's  reward.  "  That's  the  way 
the  first  Easter  eggs  came." 

"Huccome  dem  yeaster-aigs  urrways  (otherwise)  den  fum 
a-dyein'  ob  um  wid  ingun-peelins,  ur  logwood-bahk,  ur  green 
oats  ?  "  asked  Granny,  rolling  her  eyes  around  the  group  to 
intimate  that  she  was  merely  giving  her  pet  an  opportunity  to 
"  show  off,"  and  was  not  really  ignorant  of  the  legend  referred 
to. 

"Why,  don't  you  know,  Granny,  don't  you,  really?" 
questioned  Tow  Head,  in  perfect  good  faith. 

"  Yo'  reckon  I  know  all  de  tales  in  de  worl'  ?  " 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  35 

"  I  thought  you  did,  but  if  you  don't  I  can  tell  you  this  one. 
It  is  a  thrush  story.  The  thrush,  you  know,  had  a  nest  very 
near  the  place  where  the  cross  was  set  up  that  Good  Friday 
when  our  Jesus  was  crucified,  and — oh  !  Granny — the  poor 
little  bird  grieved  and  mourned  so  that  her  four  little  eggs 
turned  black,  quite  black.  They  stayed  so  until  Easter  morn- 
ing, but  then,  when  the  dear  Lord  rose  again,  the  little  bird 
burst  out  singing  and  sang  so  beautifully  that  the  angels  them- 
selves stopped  to  listen.  And,  oh  !  when  the  song  was  finished 
and  she  looked  at  the  poor  little  black  eggs,  they  had  turned 
silver  and  gold  and  crimson  and  purple.  Wasn't  that  grand, 
Granny  ?  and  aren't  you  glad  it  happened  ?  If  it  had  not,  you 
know,  you  could  never  have  had  the  fun  of  dyeing  my  eggs 
for  me,"  added  Tow  Head,  with  naive  egotism. 

"  Dat  suttinly  would  a-bin  er  mons'us  pity,"  said  Granny, 
gravely,  and  Tow  Head  wondered  why  the  rest  were  so  rude  as 
to  laugh  at  her. 

"I  know  of  another  bird,  too,"  said  Tow  Head,  anxious  to 
divert  Granny's  attention  and  save  her  feelings.  "  A  wasp-bird, 
Granny.  I'll  tell  you  about  him  if  you  like." 

"  Des  yo'  git  dese  hyeah  close  on  fust,  honey,"  said  Aunt 
Mymee,  rising  and  going  toward  the  bed.  "  Dey's  dry  now, 
an'  pray  de  Lawd  yo'  flannin  dress  ain't  swunk  twell  yo' 
kyarn't  git  eenside  o'  hit." 

The  raiment  was  adjusted.  Tow  Head,  meanwhile,  noting 
the  fit  of  each  piece  in  anxious  silence.  She  heaved  a  sigh  of 
relief  when  her  frock  was  buttoned.  "  It  didn't  shrink  1  "  she 
exclaimed,  gleefully. 

"  Hit  swunk  de  wedth  o'  my  two  fingehs,"  Aunt  Mymee 
answered. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not !  I  think  I've  grown  that  much  since  tea 
time.  Mamma  says  I  grow  like  Jonah's  gourd.  Now  for  the 
story,  Granny.  Big  Angy  told  it  me,  that  day  you  took  me  to 
her  house  and  we  had  such  a  good  time." 


36  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Er  good  time  !  Dellaws  !  des  lissen  ter  de  chile.  Dat  wuz 
de  day  Miss  Boogarry's  big  brown  slut  a-most  bit  de  laig  off  o' 
huh  foh  foolin'  wid  de  young  pups.  Huh  !  dat  wuz  er  good 
time,  sholy." 

"  So  it  was.  Angy  tied  my  leg  up  in  a  big  handful  of  brown 
sugar  and  put  a  beautiful  piece  of  red  calico  outside  of  that,  and 
she  let  me  have  the  prettiest  pup  in  my  lap  when  we  went  into 
the  house.  Besides  that,  she  whistled  a  tune  for  me  on  her 
eagle-bone  whistle,  she  gave  my  two  hands  full  of  prawleens 
and  told  me  to  eat  them  all,  and,  when  I  was  through  crying, 
she  told  me  the  story  of  the  wasp  being  changed  into  an  oriole. 
O,  let  us  go  to  see  her  again,  right  away,  Granny  !  " 

"  Nemmine,  nemmine  !  Ef  yo'  want  yo'  laig  gnawed  inter 
sassidge-meat  we  kin  git  hit  done  nigher  home.  Le's  (let  us) 
hab  de  tale,  dough." 

Tow  Head  immediately  seated  herself  on  Aunt  Mymee's 
knee  and,  with  a  close  imitation  of  big  Angy's  manner,  which 
sent  Aunt  Mary  into  a  dark  corner  in  a  perfect  spasm  of  giggles, 
and  caused  the  other  three  to  choke  on  their  tobacco-smoke 
more  than  once,  she  told  this  story,  which  is  best  reproduced  in 
a  dialect  more  nearly  akin  to  the  King's  English  than  Madame 
Bougareau's  : — 

"  When  the  big  black  witch  from  Thunderland  came  sweep- 
ing over  hill  and  hollow  to  fight  the  witch  of  the  bright  Corn 
Country,  the  world  rang  with  the  sound  of  her  terrible  voice 
and  the  trees  bowed  themselves  to  the  ground  in  terror.  In  her 
anger  she  danced,  she  whirled,  she  whistled.  She  smote  the 
trees,  she  trampled  the  prarie-flowers,  she  scattered  the  corn-in- 
the-ear  as  if  it  had  been  blades  of  grass  plucked  by  a  child.  She 
fought  the  witch  of  the  Corn  Country,  striking  her  fiercely. 
She  would  have  prevailed  and  destroyed  the  witch  and  her 
country  utterly  had  not  a  wasp,  flung  from  his  nest  hung  from 
the  bough  of  an  ancient  crab-apple  tree,  stung  her  in  the  eye, 
so  that  her  tears  fell,  and  then  she  became  calm  and  weak 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  37 

as  the  weakest  of  old  women.  Then  it  was  that  the  witch  of  the 
bright  Corn  Country  was  able  to  chase  her  back  to  her  own  land. 

"  Now  the  witch  of  the  Corn  Country  was  not  forgetful,  nor 
ungrateful.  She  took  her  benefactor,  the  wasp,  in  her  hand 
and  besought  him  to  ask  for  whatsoever  he  desired,  promising, 
at  the  same  time,  that  it  should  be  granted  him.  Immediately 
he  answered  that  he  and  his  wife  wished,  exceedingly,  not  to  be 
wasps,  whom  every  one  hated,  but  birds,  well-beloved  by  all. 

"  At  once  the  wasp  and  his  wife  had  their  wish  and  became 
orioles  ;  but,  because  some  of  the  wasp  nature  was  left  in  them, 
they  did  not  build  their  nests  as  other  birds  do,  but  made  grey 
pockets  to  hold  their  eggs,  which  from  afar  looked  like  wasps' 
nests  ;  and  as  they  did,  so  do  their  children  to  this  day." 

"  Dat's  er  fine  tale,"  said  Granny,  glad  of  an  excuse  to  talk 
and  laugh  a  little.  "  I  'clar'  ter  gracious,  ef  yo'  keep  up  dat 
lick,  yo'  gwine  ter  beat  yo'  po'  ole  Granny  all  holler,  honey." 

"  Sez  me,  dat  chile  am  gwine  ter  tek  de  bizniz  ob  yo'  folks 
right  out  o'  yo'  han's  ef  yo'  don't  hustle  yo'se'fs,"  cried  Aunt 
Mary,  strangling  the  last  giggle. 

Aunt  Mymee  chuckled  and  made  a  tight  belt  of  her  arms 
round  Tow  Head's  waist,  but  paid  no  mock  compliments.  She 
kept  silent  a  long  time,  musing,  doubtless,  on  the  strange 
adventures  of  the  various  birds  mentioned  during  the  evening, 
for  she  suddenly  began  to  sing  of  a  "  speckled  "  bird  and  the 
"  Ole  Boy."  Her  song  was  new  to  the  child,  but  evidently 
familiar  to  her  coloured  sisters,  for  they  at  once  joined  in  the 
queer  exclamatory  chorus  : — 

"  Speckle  buhd  a-settin'  on  de  ole  daid  Hm*. 

Hoodah ! 
Look  mighty  peart  an'  young  an'  slim . 

Hoodah,  hoodah,  hum  1 
Look  out  lil  buhd,  de  Ole  Boy  come. 

Hoodah  ! 
Fiah  in  he  eye,  he  look  mighty  glum. 

Hoodah,  hoodah,  hum 


38  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

Look  out,  lil  buhd,  he  gvvine  fob  ter  shoot  ! 

Hoodah  ! 
Flap  yo'  wings  an'  git  up  an'  scoot. 

Hoodah,  hoodah,  hum  ! 
Oh,  sinneh,  sinneh,  dat  des  lak  you  ! 

Hoodah  ! 
De  ole  Bad  Man,  he  gotter  gun,  too. 

Hoodah,  hoodah,  hum  ! 
He  shoot  yo'  front  an'  he  shoot  yo'  back, 

Hoodah  ! 
Down  yo'  go,  plum  claid,  ker-smack  ! 

Hoodah,  hoodah,  hum  ! 
Run,  po'  niggah,  run  an'  run. 

Hoodah  ! 
Debbil,  big  debbil,  a-aimin'  he  gun. 

Hoodah,  hoodah,  hum  ! 
Run,  run,  run  ;  run,  run,  run  ! 

Hoodah  ! 
Run,  run,  run  ;  run,  RUN,  RUN ! 

Hoodah,  hoodah,  hum  ! 


BIG   DEBBIL. 


in. 

BILLS  OF  FARE— THE  CROWS— LITTLE  DOV&S 
SON, 

WHEN  Tow  Head  dashed  into  the  cabin  in  advance  of  Aunt 
Mymee,  a  delightful  odour  greeted  her  nostrils.  She  knew  it 
well.  It  was  the  fragrance  of  prawleens,1  that  compound  of 
New  Orleans  molasses,  brown  sugar,  chocolate  and  butter, 
boiled  together  and  enriched  just  before  leaving  the  fire  with 
the  meats  of  hickory  nuts,  hazel  nuts,  pecans,  almonds,  and  the 
never-neglected  goober  2  dear  to  the  sweet  taste  of  every  child, 
adult  Creole  and  darkey. 

"  Prawleens  !  "  exclaimed  the  maid,  delightedly,  as  Big  Angy 
poured  the  bubbling  mass  from  a  little  glazed  iron  pot,  usually 
kept  sacred  for  the  boiling  of  partridge  eggs,  into  a  buttered 
pan.  "  Prawleens  ! — and  nothing  in  the  world  is  as  good." 

Big  Angy  showed  all  her  white  teeth.  "  Punkin-sass  is 
betteh,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  De  punkin-sass  dat  ain't  got  no 
stow  (store)  sweet'nin',  mais  am  biled  down  clost  (close)  wid 
watteh-million  (water-melon)  juice." 

"  Chitt'lin'ss  is  betteh,"  amended  Granny. 

"  Schewed  cawn  (stewed  corn)  t'ickened  wid  dried  buffler- 
meat  (buffalo-meat)  pounded  inter  dust  am  de  t'ing  dat  mek  de 
mouf  dribble,"  cried  Aunt  Em'ly. 

1  Pralines.  Burnt  almonds.  So  called  from  a  Duke  de  Praslin  of  the  time 
of  Louis  XIV.,  who  is  said  to  have  invented  them. 

3  The  goober  (arachis  hypogea)  is  the  pea-nut  or  ground-nut,  which  still  pre- 
serves the  name  (gu&a)  by  which  it  is  known  all  over  Africa  ;  even  in  Cairo. 

3  Chitlings,  an  old  English  word. 

39 


40  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Shoh,  honey  !  shoh  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Mary.  "  'Pear  lak 
yo'  done  fegit  bake  'possum  an'  sweet-taters  wid  coon  gravy." 

"  I  stick  ter  de  cawn,"  answered  Aunt  Em'ly,  with  decision'  ; 
"  dough  I  ain't  kick  up  my  heels  at  'possum.  Torkin'  'bout 
cawn  'minds  me,  Miss  Boogarry,  dat  I  seen  yo'  bilin'  an'  dryin' 
er  heap  las'  summeh.  Wut  yo'  done  wid  um,  seem'  dat  yo' 
ain'  got  no  suller  (cellar)  ?  " 

"  Cache  um." 

"  Cash  um  ?     De  Good  Lawd  !     How  ?  " 

"Wen,"  said  Angy,  with  dignity,  "de  roas'in'-yeahs  (roasting  - 
ears)  is  in  de  milk,  me  git  um,  bile  um,  dig  de  grains  offen  de 
cob  wid  HI  stick,  spread  um  on  de  big  rush  mats  me  mek' 
twell  dey  dry  lak  sand,  den  me  dig  hole  in  de  ground — deep, 
putt  in  de  mats  all  round,  den  tek  de  cawn,  putt  um  in  de  big 
bag  mek  outen  de  eenside  bahk  o'  de  linn-tree,  fling  dat  bag 
in  de  pit,  putt  on  de  top  mo'  mat,  shubble  on  de  dirt,  smack 
um  down  flat.  Dat  cachevd? 

"  Uh-huh  !  uh-huh  !  dat  de  rale  Injun  way." 

"  Torkin'  'bout  cawn,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  who  had  not 
before  spoken,  "  mek  me  fetch  up  de  membunce  ob  how  hit 
come  out  dat  de  crows,  dat  use  ter  bin  ez  w'ite  ez  er  tame 
goose,  wuz  all  tuhn  brack." 

"  Tell  dat  tale  !  Le's  hab  dat  tale,"  said  every  one,  eagerly, 
for  it  was  not  always  that  Aunt  Mymee  would  impart  her 
garnered  knowledge. 

"  Hyeah  'tis,"  said  Mymee. 

"In  de  ole  time,  de  crows  wuz  w'iter  den  de  driben  snow 
a-stretchin'  'long  de  perarer  (prairie).  Dey  might  a-bin  dat- 
away  yit  ef  dey  wuz  boss  by  de  stren'th  o'  dey  haids  stiddi  er 
de  gnawin's  o'  dey  stummicks.  Dishaway  hit  happun  :  De 
time  o'  de  yeah  come  'round  w'en  dey  hilt  dey  big  meetin' 
whah  dey  tork  'bout  all  dey  done  in  de  time  back  an'  lay  off 
wut  dey  gwine  ter  do  in  de  time  for'a'd.  One  day  dey  'low 
dey  gwine  ter  hab  er  big  bank-it." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  41 

"  What's  a  bank-it  ?  "  asked  Tow  Head,  promptly. 

"  Hit's  de  biggest  an'  de  finest  kine  o'  er  big  eatin'.  Ise 
s'prise  yo'  don't  'membeh  dat,  kase  I  hyeah  yo'  ma  read  'bout 
um  unter  yo',  (unto  you)  des  yistiddy." 

"  Oh,  a  banquet  !  I  didn't  know  that  anybody  except  the 
people  that  make  poetry  had  'em.  Go  on  with  the  crows, 
please." 

"  De  crows  lay  off  ter  had  um,"  continued  Aunt  Mymee, 
avoiding  a  repetition  of  the  doubtful  word,  "  kase  one  de  ole 
crows  done  fotch  in  word  dat  er  strange  'ooman  dat  ain't  got 
de  sense  ter  hab  out  her  skeer-crow  wuz  des  got  thu  de  plantin' 
ob  her  big  fiel?  ob  cawn.  Dey  'low  dey  ain't  gwine  ter  leabe 
nuttin  foh  de  cut-wuhm  (worm),  dey  gwine  ter  tek  de  lastest 
grain.  Dey  didn't  know  dat  'ooman  wuz  de  ole  'ooman  ob  er 
cunjer-man.  Dat  whurs  dey  miss  hit.  Dat  cunjer-man  wuz 
tell  dat  'ooman  er  chahm  (charm),  an'  ez  she  plant  she  say  : — 

'  Sprout  foh  me, 
Come  out  foh  me, 
Mek  um  drunk  dat  steal  fum  me.' 

Dem  crows  ain't  know  all  dat  an'  dey  dat  hongry  dat  dey  ain't 
keerin'  w'y  dat  fiel'  ain't  got  no  clacker-boy,  no  skeer-crow,  no 
nuttin.  Dey  pick  an'  dey  eat  an'  dey  gobble  an'  dey  stuff. 
Bimeby  dey  laigs  'gin  ter  trirnmle  an'  dey  eyes  'gin  ter  budge 
(bulge),  an'  dey  fetch  one  squawk  an'  down  dey  flop  right  'side 
de  cawn  hills.  Den  come  de  ole  'ooman  fum  ahine  er  big 
hick'ry  stump,  an'  she  ketch  up  all  dem  crows  an'  fling  um 
inter  er  big  splint  bag,  des  lak  dem  bags  dat  Miss  Boogarry 
done  putt  huh  cawn  inter.  Den  dat  'ooman,  she  mek  'er  big 
pile  ob  sticks  an'  dry  wood-moss  an'  grass  an'  leabes  an'  de  lak 
o'  dat,  an'  she  fling  de  bag  'pun  top  o'  dat,  an'  den  she  scrub 
two  sticks  tergedder  an'  strak  'er  light  an'  set  de  pile  afiah. 
Some  dem  sticks  wuz  green  an'  some  wuz  rotten — she  wuz  dat 
mad  w'en  she  wuz  pickin'  um  up  dat  she  don't  skursely  know 


42  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

ef  she  pickin'  up  limbs  ur  pickin'  up  snakes — so,  arter  de  fust 
flash,  de  fiah  smoke  an'  don't  buhn  good.  Dem  crows  wuz  smoke 
turr*ble,  an'  swinge  some  (somewhat  singed),  but  dey  wuzn't  buhn 
up.  Dey  lay  dar  twell  dat  slow,  swomickey  (smouldering)  fiah 
buhn  er  hole  in  de  bag,  an'  by  dat  time  dey  wuz  dat  skeered  dat 
dey  git  o'er  de  drunk  dat  de  chahm  gib  um.  Wen  dey  see  de 
hole,  flap  !  smack  !  whis-sp  !  dey  go  thu  an'  fly  clean  off  an'  leabe 
de  ole  'ooman  a-cussin'.  My  !  wuzn't  dey  glad  dat  dey  all  git 
away  ? — dat  is,  at  de  fust,  w' en  dey  feel  so  good  dat  dey  ain't  all 
brizzled  inter  coals  ;  but,  bimeby,  w'en  de  smoke  git  out  o' 
dey  eyes,  an'  dey  look  dishaway,  look  dataway,  at  fust  de  one, 
den  de  turr,  den  down  at  deyse'fs,  dey  dat  'shamed  dat  dey 
kyarn't  hold  dey  haids  up.  My  !  my  !  my  !  dey  all  des  ez 
brack  ez  de  bottom  ob  er  soap-kittle.  Den  dey  plume  an'  dey 
preen  an'  dey  pick  an'  dey  wash  ;  dey  ain't  e'en  'bove  tryin' 
cunjerin'  deys'fs,  but  'tain't  no  use  ;  brack  dey  wuz,  and  brack 
dey  is,  an'  brack  dey  gwine  ter  be.  Deah  suz  !  yo'  all  know 
dat,  kase  ef  yo'  bile  er  crow-fedder  wid  pearlash  an'  sof'-soap, 
yo'  kin  cut  um  all  ter  smidgins  (bits),  but  yo'  kyarn't  bleach  um 
w'ite.  Brimstun  kyarn't  do  dat  !  " 

Aunt  Mymee's  adult  friends  made  haste  to  compliment  her 
story  as  soon  as  she  had  finished,  but  Tow  Head,  contrary 
to  custom,  had  nothing  to  say.  She  was  secretly  distressed 
at  the  suffering  of  the  poor  crows,  having  a  very  vivid  reali- 
sation of  it  owing  to  an  experience  of  her  own. 

Once  she  had  followed  Granny  into  the  "  smoke-house,"  and 
looked  with  great  interest  at  the  many  rows  of  hams,  shoulders, 
and  "  sides "  hanging  from  the  rafters.  While  Granny  was 
making  a  great  pile  of  corn  cobs  in  the  middle  of  the  earthen 
floor,  Tow  Head  hid  behind  a  barrel  in  a  corner,  and  waited 
for  Granny  to  search  for  her.  Granny  did  nothing  of  the 
kind  ;  she  poured  a  shovelful  of  coals  on  her  cobs,  and  went 
off  after  closing  the  heavy  door  behind  her,  and  "  reckoning 
dat  chile  gone  ter  de  house."  Tow  Head  never  forgot  the 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  43 

awful  smoking  she  received  before  her  cries  brought  rescue  ; 
therefore  she  could  not  enjoy  a  vision  of  the  strangling,  smart- 
ing crows. 

"  Aunt  Mymee."  she  said,  by  way  of  changing  the  subject, 
"  why  didn't  you  tell  us,  before  you  began  the  crow  story,  what 
is  your  favourite  food  ?  " 

"  Wusser-meat,"  I  answered  Aunt  My mee,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation. 

"  What  is  it  made  of,  Aunt  Mymee  ?     What  is  a  wusser  ?  " 

"  He's  a  heap  o'  t'ings,"  said  Aunt  Mymee.  laughing. 
"  He's  livers  an'  lights  an'  kidneys  an'  hahts — all  de  pluck — 
biled  down' dost  an'  chopped  fine,  an'  den  cooled  an'  sliced  up 
lak  haid-cheese.  Oh  !  hit  mek  my  motif  dribble  now." 

"  'Tain'  wusser,  hit  wassa,  an'  hit  mus'  hab  dried  churries  in 
um,"  said  Big  Angy. 

"  Dried  cherries  !     How  can  you  get  the  stones  out  ?  " 

"  Don't  take  um  out,  missey.  Git  de  wild  churry,  de  brack 
churry,  an'  pound  um  fine,  an'  putt  dat  wid  de  pluck — dat 
wassa,  sho  nuff." 

Aunt  Mymee  privately  thought  it  a  pity  to  spoil  so  excellent 
a  viand  as  wusser-meat  by  the  addition  of  the  bitter  dust 
of  wild  cherries,  but  she  did  not  so  express  herself ;  what 
she  said  was,  that  she  did  not  often  eat  wild  cherries,  that 
she  had  known  of  people  who  ate  them  falling  at  once  into 
a  deep  sleep,  especially  if  they  were  under  the  tree,  and  waking 
up  to  find  that  they  had  been  "  tricked  "  (conjured)  by  some 
unknown  agency  ;  and,  of  course,  if  you  did  not  know  how 
you  were  tricked,  nor  who  did  it,  you  never  could  get  free. 

"Dat  so!  dat  so!"  exclaimed  Big  Angy,  eagerly.  u  Dat 
wut  happen  wid  Lil  Dove.  Me  mammy  tole  me  dat,  long 
time  back." 

Everybody  at  this  was  clamorous  for  the  story  of  Little 
Dove. 

1   Wusser,  from  the  German  wurst,  or  sausage. 


44  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Hit  mo  de  tale  ob  Lil  Dove's  son,"  amended  Angy. 

That  would  do  just  as  well,  everybody  thought  and  said  ;  so, 
after  Aunt  Mary  had  handed  round  generous  lumps  of  praw- 
leens,  Big  Angy  told  this  : — 

In  the  old  time  there  was  a  young  maiden  called  Little 
Dove.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  maiden  in  all  the  land  and 
had  many  lovers,  but  she  cared  for  none  of  them,  and  refused 
to  go  with  them  or  accept  their  presents,  or  listen  to  their 
music.  She  was  an  only  daughter.  Her  father  loved  her 
very  much  and  would  not  urge  her  to  marry.  The  other  girls 
were  displeased  at  this.  They  wished  her  to  marry  ;  for  so 
long  as  she  remained  single  the  young  men  would  look  at 
no  one  else  ;  they  felt  a  great  hatred  and  jealousy  of  her, 
but  this  they  kept  secret  and  were  careful  to  praise  her  openly 
and  seem  to  be  her  friends.  They  did  not  tell  their  real 
thoughts  at  all  to  the  old  people,  though  they  had  no  scruples 
about  admitting  them  to  one  another. 

One  day  all  the  girls  went  out  to  gather  the  little  black 
cherries.  The  birds  had  been  before  them  and  they  found 
but  few.  They  scattered  into  companies  of  small  numbers 
to  hunt  more  trees.  Little  Dove  felt  hurt  that  no  one  asked 
her  to  go  along  as  a  companion,  and  wandered  off  alone. 

After  a  little  search,  she  saw  a  fine  tree  growing  at  the  edge 
of  a  very  deep  ravine  cut  into  the  soft  soil  by  a  feeble  little 
stream.  She  set  down  her  basket  and  tried  to  shake  the 
glistening  cherries  from  the  branches.  The  tree  was  so  strong 
and  firmly  rooted  she  could  not  shake  it  enough  to  bring  down 
any  fruit.  She  stood  off  and  looked  at  it  as  she  rested  from 
her  labours.  Those  cherries  were  the  finest  she  had  ever  seen. 
Alas  !  they  were  all  growing  well  out  of  reach  instead  of  some 
being  on  the  drooping  lower  limbs.  She  felt  that  she  must 
have  them.  Again  and  again  she  strove  to  shake  the  tree. 
She  could  not.  She  flung  sticks  among  the  branches.  Not 
one  cherry  fell.  She  thought  she  would  go  away  and  find 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  45 

another  tree,  but  a  great  longing  for  the  fruit  of  that  particular 
one  constrained  her,  and  as  often  as  her  reluctant  feet  turned 
away  they  turned  back  again.  She  tried  to  climb  the  tree,  but 
the  trunk  was  as  smooth  as  ice.  She  sat  down  and  wept 
childish  tears  of  disappointment  and  vexation.  So  absorbed 
was  she  that  she  failed  to  observe  that  a  young  man  in  all  the 
bravery  of  a  warrior's  apparel  was  coming  up  the  steep,  high 
bank  of  the  little  stream.  He  approached  and  called  her  by  her 
name.  She  looked  up  in  surprise.  She  did  not  know  the 
stranger.  She  saw  that  he  was  handsome  and  very  well 
dressed.  His  cheeks  and  the  feathers  in  his  scalp-lock  were 
painted  red.  His  leggings  and  shirt  were  whitened  doeskin, 
his  moccasins  and  blanket  were  embroidered  with  porcupine- 
quills. 

"  Why  do  you  weep  ?  "  he  asked,  and  his  voice  was  pleasant. 

She  hung  her  head,  ashamed  to  answer,  but  at  last  his  look 
compelled  her.  She  told  him  her  wish  with  regard  to  the 
cherries.  At  once  he  set  his  foot  against  the  tree  and  the 
fruit  fell  about  them  in  showers.  She  forgot  the  warrior,  she 
forgot  everything  in  her  eagerness  to  possess  that  which  she 
had  craved  ;  she  gathered  it  hurriedly,  she  ate  of  it  hungrily. 
Then  a  rushing  sound  came  in  her  ears.  Frightened,  she 
looked  up  from  the  ground  where  she  sat  and  saw  the  warrior 
coming  towards  her  with  his  arms  oustretched.  She  fell 
forward.  She  knew  no  more. 

When  the  new  moon  that  shone  the  night  before  the  cherry- 
picking  was  old,  she  went  home  to  her  father.  She  had  been 
searched  for.  She  had  been  mourned  as  dead.  At  first  she 
was  joyfully  received,  but  when  she  affirmed  she  had  been 
gone  but  a  few  hours,  the  faces  of  the  old  people  grew  grave, 
the  young  people  became  scornful.  Her  father  withdrew  into 
a  dark  corner,  her  brothers  went  away  by  themselves.  She 
had  no  mother  to  reproach  her  else  she  might  have  heard 
bitter  things. 


46  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

When  an  old  woman  told  her  how  long  she  had  been  gone, 
when  she  perceived  what  all  thought  of  her,  she  begged  that 
they  would  go  with  her  to  the  tree  and  see  if  they  could  not 
help  her  to  unravel  the  mystery.  Some  from  curiosity  or  pity 
went.  They  found  her  basket,  which  she  had  not  thought  to 
take  back  to  the  village,  all  broken  and  weather-stained.  They 
found  the  tree  that  grew  on  the  high  bank  above  the  little 
stream.  Alas  !  it  was  an  elm,  not  a  cherry-tree.  Surely  it 
could  never  have  showered  cherries  into  the  basket  or  on  the 
ground  beneath  its  branches. 

Little  Dove  wept  very  sorely  when  her  former  friends  went 
away  in  silence  and  left  her  there. 

After  that  life  was  very  sad.  Her  father  and  brothers 
loved  her  no  more.  "  To  go  out  and  gather  cherries  "  became 
a  byword  and  an  insult  in  the  village.  When  'she  was  ill  no 
one  was  concerned.  Even  her  old  lovers  forgot  their  former 
words  and  feelings,  and  avenged  their  slights  with  cruel  jests. 
This  was  more  than  she  could  bear,  so  she  went  away  from 
them  all  and  built  her  a  home  under  that  fatal  elm  tree. 
Daily  she  looked  along  the  ravine,  leaving  none  of  its  bramble- 
covered  nooks  and  fissure  unexplored. 

"  Without  doubt  he  is  a  great  magician,"  she  told  herself. 
"  He  may  come  again,  and  surely,  if  asked,  would  have  pity  on 
a  poor  girl  and  make  all  things  pleasant  for  her  again  with  her 
people." 

But  he  never  came. 

After  awhile,  a  friendless  old  woman,  whose  relations  were 
tired  of  her,  came  begging  to  her  door. 

"  Let  me  in,  Little  Dove,"  she  entreated.  "  I  can  fish  for 
you,  I  can  snare  birds  and  squirrels  for  you.  Let  me  in." 

Little  Dove  let  her  in,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  fish  or  birds,  for 
she  could  catch  those  very  easily  herself,  but  out  of  com- 
passion. 

Then  she  was  not  so  lonely.      She  told  her  story  over  and 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  47 

over,  leaving  out  nothing,  and  the  old  woman  listened,  nodding 
her  head  and  saying  always — 

"  I  know,  I  know.  Have  courage.  Some  day  all  will  come 
right.  The  sorcerer  will  come  again — he  always  comes  more 
than  once  to  those  he  comes  to  at  all — then  this  people  will  be 
afraid  and  ashamed." 

This  comforted  Little  Dove  somewhat. 

Then  the  bitter  winter  weather  came  and  they  never  saw 
the  village  people  even  from  afar.  No  one  went  by  crying — 

"  Where  are  the  cherries  ?  " 

When  the  winter  was  past  and  the  cherry-trees  bloomed 
again,  there  was  a  bark  cradle  swinging  from  a  branch  of  the 
elm  tree — a  low  branch  that  suddenly  wa's  perceived  by  two 
women.  That  cradle  was  the  elm  tree's  only  blossom. 

When  the  old  woman  first  saw  the  boy  that  swung  in  the 
cradle,  she  held  him  up  to  the  light.  "  Now,"  she  cried,  "  the 
secret  magic  is  revealed." 

From  the  child's  crown  grew  a  tuft  of  vermillion  hair, 
shining  like  a  coal  amid  the  blackness  of  the  other  locks. 

When  Little  Dove  saw  it  she  was  not  so  much  ashamed  ; 
when  the  old  woman  had  been  over  to  the  village  and  told  the 
wonder  and  returned  with  many  visitors,  she  was  not  ashamed 
at  all ;  she  began  to  be  proud. 

The  visitors  invited  her  to  go  back  to  the  village  with  them, 
but  she  would  not. 

11  This  place  will  do,"  she  said.     "  We  lack  for  nothing." 

Then  they  entreated  her,  at  the  same  time  offering  many  gifts. 
(They  had  talked  together,  privately,  and  said,  "  This  is  the 
child  of  a  great  father.  We  know  the  father's  name,  though 
we  do  not  say  it.x  Doubtless  the  son  will  grow  up  to  be  a  very 
wonderful  sorcerer.  It  would  be  a  bad  thing  to  have  his  ill- 
will.  We  must  get  the  good-will  of  his  mother  now,  then  he 
will  be  for  and  not  against  us  after  a  while,") 

She  answered  them,  pleasantly,  but  would  not  go  from  her 


48  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

tepee,1  so,  finally,  all  but  the  old  woman  went  away.  They 
went  away,  but,  now  and  then,  as  they  moved  about,  they 
returned  to  the  tepee1  under  the  elm  to  watch  the  boy's 
increasing  stature  and  intelligence. 

Never  was  there  a  boy  like  that  one.  He  was  soon  in 
appearance  and  intellect  a  man.  He  asked  his  mother  many 
questions.  One  day  he  asked  about  his  father. 

She  told  him  the  story  she  had  told  to  others  so  often. 

When  she  had  finished  he  put  his  hand  to  the  long  red  lock. 
"  I  will  find  my  father,"  he  said,  and  the  heart  of  the  mother 
was  both  sorry  and  glad  when  she  heard  him  say  it. 

Next  day  he  went  away.  He  wandered  far,  he  wandered 
long,  but  he  did  not  find  his  father.  He  went  home  to  his 
mother  and  brooded  in  silence.  One  day  he  lay  in  the  shade 
of  the  old  tree  and  dreamed  a  dream.  He  awoke  and  shouted  as 
if  he  were  going  into  battle.  "  This  is  the  road,"  he  cried  to  his 
mother,  and  began  to  climb  the  tree.  He  went  up  very  fast ; 
on  the  straight  trunk  which  had  been  so  smooth  once,  but  was 
rough  enough  then  ;  on  the  great  limbs  ;  on  the  small  limbs  ; 
out  of  sight  among  the  leaves. 

The  mother  called  and  called. 

At  first  he  answered,  then  he  made  no  answer.  He  did  not 
come  down  that  day,  though  she  waited  and  watched  under  the 
tree.  He  did  not  come  down  the  next,  nor  the  next,  nor  for 
three  winters. 

His  mother  feared  she  had  lost  him,  but  one  morning  she 
looked  out  and,  behold  !  the  tree  was  black  and  shining  with 
ripe  cherries. 

"  He  is  coming,"  she  said,  and  sat  down  on  the  ground  to 
wait. 

In  a  few  moments  he  did  come,  walking  and  sliding  down 
the  tree. 

He  had  made  a  great  journey.  At  the  top  of  the  tree,  when 
1  Tepee,  wigwam. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  49 

he  went  up,  was  a  cloud,  and  through  the  cloud  was  a  long 
passage-way  like  the  one  a  spider  weaves  between  rock  and 
bush.  He  went  through  the  passage,  on  and  on,  till  he  thought 
he  should  never  come  to  the  end,  seeing  nothing  in  the  dim 
light,  until  finally  he  emerged  into  a  beautiful  land  of  forests 
and  streams  where  the  woodpeckers,  thick  as  a  flight  of  locusts, 
were  disporting  themselves.  They  greeted  him  in  his  own 
language  and  conducted  him  to  their  chief.  The  chief  addressed 
him  as  his  son  and  talked  to  him  earnestly,  instructing  him  in 
all  things  he  could  need  to  know. 

"I  sent  you  the  dream  that  brought  you  here,"  said  the 
father  to  the  son.  "  I  wished  to  make  you  wiser  than  the  men 
who  live  altogether  on  the  ground." 

So  the  son  stayed  in  the  high  habitation  of  the  father,  learn- 
ing of  peace  and  war  and  all  that  pertained  to  success  in  each. 
One  thing  only  that  the  father  knew  he  would  not  teach  the 
son  (whom  he  named  "  Redfeather)  :  he  would  not  teach  him 
how  to  assume  the  form  of  a  bird.  "  Not  yet,  my  son,"  he 
said.  "  Not  until  you  come  again." 

When  Redfeather  seemed  well  enough  instructed,  his  father 
conducted  him  as  far  as  the  tree-top  and  there  took  leave  of  him. 
"Go  to  your  mother's  people,"  he  said,  at  parting,  "and 
instruct  them  as  I  have  instructed  you.  Put  them  above  their 
enemies,  make  them  so  that  their  young  men  shall,  in  future, 
know  as  much  as  the  old  ones  do  now,  and  that  the  old  ones 
shall  have  wisdom  beyond  measurement.  When  this  has  been 
accomplished  you  may  take  your  choice,  either  to  stay  with 
them  or  lead  your  mother  up  here." 

After  saying  this  the  father  went  back,  and  Redfeather 
descended  the  tree. 

When  he  had  finished  relating  all  that  had  befallen  him, 
Redfeather  wished  to  set  out  immediately  to  find  his  people, 
who  had  moved  a  long  way  off,  but  his  mother  objected.  She 
had  not  forgotten  those  last  unhappy  days  she  spent  among 

5 


50  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

them,  therefore  she  did  not  wish  to  rejoin  them  nor  have  her 
son  with  them. 

When  Redfeather  found  his  arguments  went  for  nought,  he 
left  her  under  the  tree. 

"  Here  you  will  find  me  on  your  return,"  she  told  him,  for 
she  had  no  faith  in  those  people. 

He  set  out  buoyant  of  heart.  He  found  the  people,  he  taught 
them,  he  led  them  to  battle,  he  helped  them  to  conquer  their 
enemies,  he  let  them  keep  all  the  spoil,  he  showed  them 
pleasant  places  in  which  to  dwell. 

At  first  they  were  thankful,  then  they  were  proud,  then 
they  were  jealous,  then  they  plotted  against  him. 

He  founcj  out  all  these  things.  He  called  them  together 
and  revealed  his  knowledge.  He  renounced  them.  The  wife 
he  married  he  sent  back  to  her  father.  He  left  all  behind  and 
returned  to  his  mother.  He  found  her  sitting  lonely  under 
the  elm  tree,  which  was  again  black  with  cherries. 
"  Come  up  !  "  a  voice  called. 

"I  could  not  climb  the  tree  when  I  was  young,  how  can  I 
now  that  I  am  old  ?  "  said  Little  Dove,  weeping  bitterly.  "  Go, 
my  son,  without  me." 

Redfeather  took  her  hand.  "  Come  up,"  he  said,  echoing  the 
voice. 

He  started,  drawing  her  after  him. 

She  found  she  could  go  easily  ;  so  they  went,  the  son  first, 
the  mother  after  ;  up  the  trunk,  the  limbs,  the  light  branches, 
through  the  thick  leaves. 

Some  who  had  pursued  Redfeather  saw  a  cloud  receive  the 
two.  With  them  went  all  the  good-luck  of  Little's  Dove's 
people. 

"  Sarve  um  right,  too  !  "  said  Granny,  emphatically.  "  De 
proud  stummick  dat  spew  out  de  milk  in  de  mawnin'  am  boun' 
ter  stay  hitse'f  on  crik-watteh  (creek-water)  'fo'  de  day  am 
done.  Dat  de  sollum  fack,  hit  sholy  am." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  51 

<4Troof  dar,  Aunt  Jinny  ;  troof  dar,  Miss  Boogarry,"  echoed 
the  others. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Tow  Head,  thoughtfully,  "  that  I  knew  if 
Redfeather's  father  ever  taught  him  how  to  change  himself 
into  a  bird.  Do  you  think  he  did,  Mrs.  Boogarry  ?  " 

"  Me  an'  Redfeather  ain'  kip  sikrits  at  un  nurr  "  (kept  secrets 
together)  Big  Angy  made  answer  so  grimly  that  the  little  girl 
ventured  no  more  questions.  Her  little  tongue  was  stilled, 
though  her  brain  was  not.  She  pondered  over  Redfeather  and 
his  probable  career  in  his  father's  mansions  for  a  long,  long 
time,  paying  no  heed  to  the  neighbourhood  gossip  her  friends 
were  bandying  about.  After  awhile  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  rocked  on  a  cloud  herself,  and  voices  very  far  away  began 
to  sing,  not  in  invitation,  but  this  bill-of-fare,  of  which  she 
certainly  did  not  partake  : — 

"  Oh  !  chicken-pie  an'  pepper,  oh  I 
Chicken-pie  is  good,  I  know  ; 
So  is  watteh-million,  too, 
So  is  rabbit  in  er  stew, 
So  is  dumplin's  biled  with  squab, 
So  is  cawn  biled  on  de  cob, 
So  is  chine  an'  turkey-breast, 
So  is  aigs  des  fum  de  nest." 


IV. 

MORE  ABOUT  WOODPECKER. 

IT  was  a  bright  afternoon,  but  Granny's  aspect  was  exceedingly 
gloomy.  As  she  left  the  "calf-lot,"  where  she  had  been 
prescribing  for  a  young  bovine  too  soon  acquainted  with  the 
ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,  she  saw  a  sight  that  froze  her  very 
blood. 

A  lane  ran  between  the  "  calf-lot "  and  the  enclosure  where 
the  cabins  were,  and  in  that  lane  stood  Tow  Head  flinging 
corn-cobs  with  all  her  little  might  at  a  small,  dark  bird,  which 
was  busily  examining  the  rails  of  the  old  worm-fence  and  the 
bark  of  an  ancient  tree  that  lounged  against  them. 

"  Stop  dat !  Stop,  dis  minnit  !  "  shrieked  Granny,  hastily 
slipping  the  bars  of  the  calf-lot  in  place,  and  making  a  dash 
at  the  offender.  "  D'yo'  wanter  git  the  whole  passel  ob  us 
cunjered  ?  " 

Tow  Head  paused  in  dismay,  and  looked  about  for  the 
conjuror. 

"  W-where  is  he,  Granny  ?  "  she  asked,  faintly. 

"  On  de  top  de  fence.  Dar,  on  de  ridah  "  (rider,  top  rail), 
mumbled  Granny,  nodding  towards  the  top  rail  of  the  worm- 
fence,  and  then  hurrying  the  little  girl  through  the  "  big  gate  " 
of  the  less  primitive  boundary  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lane. 

"  You're  pinching  my  shoulder,"  whimpered  Tow  Head, 
vainly  striving  to  wriggle  out  of  Granny's  iron  grasp. 

"  Nemmine  !  nemmine  !  "  (never  mind  !)  panted  Granny. 
"  Des  lemme  git  yo'  in  out  o'  sight." 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO.  53 

Tow  Head  was  appalled.  Never  had  she  seen  Granny's 
eyes  gleam  like  that  since  the  day  she  and  some  of  Aunt 
Mymee's  juvenile  descendants  had  tried  to  convert  the  big 
yellow  tom-cat  into  an  opossum  by  trimming  the  hair  off  his 
tail  with  the  sheep-shears.  "  Many  a  time  and  oft "  had  she 
had  reason  to  thank  her  lucky  stars  that  she  was  not  "  a  nut- 
brown  mayde,"  and  in  consequence  liable  to  discipline  from 
the  old  woman's  staff.  That  wretched  little  bird  seemed  to 
have  obliterated  the  colour  line.  Ordinarily,  the  little  pickle 
quailed  when  she  found  herself  marched  towards  "  The  House," 
but  on  this  occasion,  when  she  was  unceremoniously  ushered 
into  the  cabin  and  seated  in  the  tallest  chair,  she  felt  like  a 
criminal  about  to  receive  a  life-sentence. 

Granny  sat  down  opposite  her,  with  folded  arms  and  a  face 
as  expressionless  as  a  mummy's. 

Tow  Head  looked  awestruck,  looked  indignant,  defiant, 
then  gave  way  and  began  to  cry. 

"  The  Bible  says  you  shalt  not  make  yourself  a  graven 
image,  I  heard  'em  say  it  in  Sunday  School,"  she  sniffled. 

a  Uh  !  huh  !  "  exclaimed  Granny,  in  sudden  fury,  "  ole 
Mymee's  bin  a-callin'  me  er  gravum  image  ergin,  hez  she  ? 
An'  yo'  ter  say  dat  yo'  pick  up  dat  meanness  in  de  Sunday 
skule  !  Ise  'shame  at  yo',  dat  I  is  !  " 

"  I  did  hear  it  in  Sunday  School,"  insisted  Tow  Head,  recover- 
ing courage,  now  that  she  saw  she  would  have  Aunt  Mymee 
as  a  partner  in  any  "  fuss." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  oh,  yes  ! — well,  suz  !  des  lemme  tell  yo'  dat  yo' 
betteh  git  dat  HI  ole  niggah  ter  putt  fo'th  huh  strenk  a-takin' 
off  de  tricks  dat  de  woodpeckeh  yo'  bin  flingin'  at  am  gwine 
ter  putt  on  de  fam'bly,  stiddier  a-settin'  Miss  Agnes'  chilluns 
ter  sass  dey  Granny." 

"  Granny,  that  wasn't  a  woodpecker.  That  little  bird  didn't 
have  a  red  head." 

"  Hit  b'long  in  de  fam'bly  o'  de  pecker  woods  des  de  same, 


54  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

an*  I  lay  dat  ef  hit  don't  'scuse  yo'  on  de  grounds  ob  natch  el 
foolishness  hit  gwine  ter  raise  er  mighty  ruction  w'en  hit  tell 
Ole  Man  Woodpeckeh." 

"  Who  is  he,  Granny  ?  "  asked  the  little  girl,  forgetting  her 
peril,  and  intent  only  on  hearing  a  story.  "  Is  he  the  father  of 
Redfeather,  Big  Angy  was  telling  about  ?  " 

"Des  'bout  de  same,  des  'bout  de  same." 

"  Tell  about  him,  Granny  ;  tell  all  about  him." 

Granny  deliberated,  fixing  her  eyes  meanwhile  on  a  flaw  in 
the  chinking  of  the  wall  behind  Tow  Head. 

Tow  Head  meekly  looked  at  the  hole  in  Granny's  boot. 

Finally,  Granny  filled  and  lighted  her  pipe,  and  the  little 
girl  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Yo'  betteh  be  a  sivin'  "  (sighing),  said  Granny,  but  her  tone 
was  not  one  of  commendation.  "  Dat's  right.  Ise  gwine  ter  tell 
yo'  one  tale  dat's  gwine  ter  mek  dat  plain.  Gin'ly,  I  tell  tales 
unter  good  chilluns,  but  dis  I  gwine  ter  tell  soster  keep  yo'  fum 
fetchin'  de  whole  ob  creation  down  'bout  our  yeahs.  Dat's 
right,  hang  yo'  haid  down,  but,"  and  Granny  softened,  "  come 
git  in  my  lap,  kase  Ise  got  de  misery  in  my  breas',  and  kyarn't 
tork  (talk)  lak  I  wuz  hollerin'  thu  de  big  dinneh  horn.  Dat's 
de  jump  !  Now,  honey,  lemme  tell  yo',  all  de  woodpeckehs  dat 
e'er  corned  out  en  er  aig  is — cun-jer-ers  !  " 

"  Oh,  Granny  !  " 

"  Yessir  !  Lemme  tull  yo'  wut  happen  wunst,  an'  I  boun' 
yo'  gwine  ter  lef  dem  budhs  'lone  foh  de  res'  o'  yo'  natchel  life  : — 

"  Wunst,  in  de  ole  times,  dey  wuz  er  mighty  peart  (pert, 
lively,  or  smart)  an'  biggetty-feelin'  lil  boy.  He  tuck  arter  de 
rest  ob  de  fam'bly  in  dat,  to  be  shoh,  kase  dey  wuz  all  un  um 
peart,  but  he  wuz  de  peartes'  in  de  lot,  an'  dat  am  sholy  sayin' 
heap.  Well  !  dis  hyeah  boy  wut  I  gwine  ter  tell  'bout,  he  wuz 
des  up  an  'a-comin'  all  de  time.  He  sot  traps  an  cotch  de 
cotton-tails  an7  pa'tridges,  he  dug  out  de  gophers,1  hp  head 

1  Gopher,  a  kind  of  marmot. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  55 

off  de  moles,  he  steal  de  budh  aigs,  he  shoot  de  squir'ls,  he  tree 
de  'coons,  he  drownd  out  de  woodchucks.1  He  des  whirl  in  an' 
get  de  whole  ob  creation  down  'pon  'im  ;  but  de  day  wuz 
a-comin'  w'en  all  de  critturs  feel  dey  cotch  up  wid'  im'.  One 
day  he  up  wid  er  rock  an'  bust  de  laig  ob  er  lil  peckerwood  dat 
he  see  a-knockin'  at  de  do'  (door)  ob  Misteh  Wuhm's  (Worm's) 
house. 

"  Dat  settle  de  bizniz  for  dat  boy. 

"  Woodpeckeh  fetch  one   squall  an'  go  hipplety,   hopplety 
home.     He  fine  he  pa  an'  say — 

"  '  Looky  hyeah  at  my  laig  !  ' 

a  Old  Woodpeckeh  look,  look  long  time  an'  say  nuttin. 

"  Den  he  cuss. 

"  Den  he  ax,  '  Who— done— dat  ?  ^ 

u  '  Dat  boy  down  in  de  holler.' 

"  *  Wut  he  done  dat  foh  ?  ' 

u '  Foh   nuttin.     I  ain't  tetch   'im.  I  ain't  ez  much  ez  sen* 
(send)  my  shadder  'cross  'im.' 

"  '  Nemmine  !  nemmine  !  des  wait,  my  child,  twell  yo'  daddy 
mek  de  'quaintance  ob  dat  boy.' 

"  *  Fix  my  laig  fust,  daddy.' 

"  '  Dat  wut  I  gwine  ter  do,  my  son.' 

"  Den  Ole  Woodpeckeh  fix  that 
laig  up  good  ez  new." 

"  How  did  he  do  it,  Granny  ?  " 

"  He  done  hit  de  way  dat  suit 
'im,   dat    all    I   knows.  I  wuzzen' 
dar  at  de  time.     Howsomedevvah 
he    done    hit    hit   wuz  er  mighty     "  DEN  OLD  WOODPECKEH  FIX 
good  job."  DAT  LAIG  UP  «OOD." 

"  I  didn't  know  birds  were  doctors." 

"  Dey's  two  free  tings  yo'  ain't  larn  yit,"  said  Granny,  with 
a  fine  irony  that  was  altogether  wasted  on  her  auditor,  "  an' 
1   Woodckuck,  also  a  variety  of  marmot. 


56  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

one  un  um  is  de  pint  Ise  aimin'  at.  De  peckerwoods  ain't  no 
shoh  'nuff  buhds,  dey's  cunjerers  dat  kin  be  buhds  ur  dey  kin 
be  men,  an'  de  boss  un  um  (of  them)  all,  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he 
kin  look  lak  de  finest  kine  ob  er  Injun-chief,  ceppin  dat  he 
don't  hafter  paint  red,  he  des  grow  dataways." 

Here  Granny  paused  and  reflected  a  long  time,  presumably 
on  the  characteristics  and  abilities  of  Woodpecker. 

"  Did  Woodpecker  ask  the  little  boy's  mamma  to  punish 
him?"  asked  Tow  Head,  after  various  ineffectual  efforts  to 
attract  Granny's  attention  without  addressing  her  directly. 

"  Him  ?  huh ! "  ejaculated  Granny 
with  fine  scorn.  "  He  don't  ax 
nobody  ter  chew  he  vittles  foh  'im. 
W'en  he  git  de  laig  fix  he  flewed  off 
inter  de  big  woods.  He  fly  roun' 
dar  twell  he  pick  out  de  bigges' 
tree  in  de  kyounty  (county),  an' 
out  o'  de  biggest  last  yeah's  limb, 
up  todes  (towards)  de  top,  he  pick 
de  kine  o'  maggit  dat  he  want. 
Wut  kine  wuz  dat  prezackry  I 
dunno.  His  wuz  de  right  kine  foh 
he  bizniz,  I  boun'  yo'  for  dat. 

"  Well !  he  git  dat  wuhm  an'  he  watch  round  twell  dat  boy 
wuz  soun'  er  sleep  in  his  trunnle-baid.  Den  he  lay  dat  wuhm 
down,  keerful,  on  de  winder-sill,  an'  he  fly  in  de  room  an'  chahm 
dat  boy  so  he  sleep  lak  de  daid  out  in  de  grabe-yahd.  Dat 
done,  he  bore  lil  hole  in  he  haid,  an'  ee  git  de  maggit  offen  de 
winder-sill  an'  he  putt  hit  in  de  lil  hole,  and  kiver  hit  up  an' 
mek  de  place  well  an'  soun'." 

"  Didn't  the  little  boy  ever  wake  up  again  ?  "  asked  Tow 
Head,  in  an  awestruck  whisper. 

"Cose  (of  course)  he  wake  up  in  de  mawnin,'  but  I  lay  he 
wish  he  don't.  Dat  boy  bin  a-fidgettin'  an'  a-flouncin'  roun' 


WOODPECKER'S   TREE. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  57 

an'  a-stirrin'  up  foolishness  dat  done  kip  he  pa  a-whoppin'  ob 
'im  wid  de  trunkstrap  study  (steadily),  e'er  sence.  Mo'n  dat, 
he  ain't  de  onlest  (only)  one  dat  got  de  maggit  in  he  haid.  Heap 
o'  folks  got  um,  an'  all  fum  pesterin'  de  peckerwoods." 

Tow  Head  felt  the  crown  of  her  head  with  a  thoughtful 
air. 

"  Does  a  trunk-strap  hurt  worse  than  a  lady's  hand  or 
slipper  ?  "  she  asked,  seriously. 

"  Heap  wuss,"  answered  Granny,  emphatically. 

Tow  Head's  deepening  melancholy  was  touching  to  behold. 

"I  reckon  yo'  safe  dis  time,"  said  Granny,  observing  it, 
<(  kase  yo's  young  an'  ain't  had  no  speunce  (experience).  Ef  yo' 
promiss  dat  yo'  ain't  gwine  ter  do  so  no  mo',  I  'low  I  kin  beg 
yo'  off  wid  Ole  Woodpeckeh." 

Tow  Head  promised  with  all  earnestness. 

"  G'long  in  de  house,  now,  an'  if  yo'  mek  out  ter  'have 
(behave)  yo'se'f  twell  arter  suppeh,  mebbe  I  git  Aunt  Mary  ter 
tell  dat  putty  tale  'bout  de  fuss  'twixt  Old  Woodpeckeh  an' 
Blue  Jay." 

This  statement  so  cheered  Tow  Head  that  she  set  out  for 
"  The  House  "  in  the  gayest  spirits,  singing  as  she  went  a  little 
song  she  had  learned  from  Aunt  Mymee.  She  did  not  finish  it, 
however,  for  at  the  door  the  auntie  caught  her  up  in  great 
excitement,  informing  her  that,  u  I  done  hunt  yo'  evverwhurs 
'cept  in  my  own  mouf,"  and  adding  that  the  new  minister  was 
in  the  parlour,  and  wished  to  see  all  the  children.  Immediately 
thereafter,  Tow  Head  was  whirled  about  in  a  perfect  cyclone  of 
preparation. 

When  she  came  to  herself,  she  was  a  very  starchy,  shiny  child 
indeed,  with  a  fiery  warmth  in  her  ears  and  a  sudden  chill  of 
bashfulness  in  her  soul.  She  had  barely  strength  to  sidle  up  to 
the  dignified  minister's  knee  and  tell,  when  asked,  her  name, 
her  age,  the  length  of  time  she  had  attended  Sunday  School, 
and  her  impression  that  there  were  twelve  commandments  and 


58  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO. 

seven  or  ten  apostles.  Growing  bolder,  she  stated  to  that 
worthy  man  that  she  could  sing. 

"  What  hymns?" 

<(  Little  grains  of  water,  little  drops  of  sand  "  and  "  Lord,  dis- 
miss us  "  ;  but  cabin  songs,  she  frankly  added,  were  a  great  deal 
nicer  than  hymns. 

"  What  are  cabin  songs,  my  dear  child  ?  " 

To  the  dismay  and  everlasting  shame  of  her  parents  and 
grandparents,  and  to  the  speechless  amazement  of  that  good 
ecclesiastic  from  "  Down  East,"  Tow  Head  piped  the  little  lay 
Aunt  Mymee  had  unceremoniously  interrupted  a  few  moments 
before — 

"  Jay-Buhd  a-settin'  on  a  hickory  lim', 
He  looked  at  me,  I  winked  at  him. 
I  up  wid  a  rock  an'  I  hit  'im  on  de  shin, 
An'  dat's  de  way  I  sucked  'im  in." 


V. 

THE  "FUSS"  BETWEEN  WOODPECKER  AND 
BLUE  JAY. 

Tow  HEAD  did  not  make  her  appearance  in  the  cabin,  as  she 
expected,  the  evening  after  her  interview  with  the  minister, 
nor  for  many  evenings  thereafter.  Her  relatives  were  suddenly 
awakened  to  the  necessity  of  making  her  acquainted  with  the 
writings  of  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke  and  John.  The  little  maiden, 
nothing  loth,  at  once  set  to  work  to  memorise  the  names  of  the 
apostles,  and  later  proved  herself  a  promising  member  of  the 
Church  militant  by  taking  sides  with  or  against  every  historical 
character  mentioned  in  the  Four  Gospels.  Jay  Bird  and  Wood- 
pecker were  for  the  time  being  forgotten,  but  one  night  mamma 
had  a  headache  and  grandma  a  visitor,  so  away  went  Tow 
Head  to  the  cabin  again,  and  immediately  bethought  her  of  the 
long-promised  story. 

Granny,  with  an  oifended  air,  pleaded  timidity.  She  "  wuzn't 
use  ter  tell  tales  *  fo  '  sech  mighty  big  strangers." 

Tow  Head  argued  and  urged  in  vain.  Finally,  she  remem- 
bered that  it  was  Aunt  Mary,  not  Granny,  that  knew  about 
Blue  Jay  and  Woodpecker,  so  she  turned  about  with  a  beaming 
smile  and  requested  the  younger  woman  to  u  tell  a  long,  long 
story." 

Aunt  Mary  had  her  laurels  yet  to  win  as  a  story-teller,  and 
was  anxious  to  make  a  beginning,  so  with  no  more  delay  than 
a  preface  of  giggles  demanded,  she  said — 

59 


60  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"All  I  knows  am  des  'bout  de  fuss  'twixt  Woodpeckeh  an' 
Blue  Jay,  an'  hyeah  'tis,  des  ez  I  done  hyeah  hit  w'en  I  wuz  er 
gal  'bout  knee-high  ter  er  hoppergrass.  Foh  er  long  time 
Woodpeckeh  am  keep  hisse'f  ter  hisse'f  an'  ain't  r'ar x  round 
much.  He  des  mine  he  own  bizniz  'tickler  clost.  Arter  w'iles, 
w'en  he  don't  putt  in  nowhurs  (show  himself  anywhere),  Old 
Blue  Jay,  he  come  fo'  (began)  ter  t'ink  dat  de  whole  yearth 
wuz  hizzen.  He  smack  de  young  squir'ls  side  o'  de  jaw,  he  et 
up  de  aigs  in  de  nestes,  an'  he  flirt  he  tail-fedders  in  de  eyes  o' 
de  turr  buhds,  an'  he  des  ack  scannelous  evvy-which-aways 
dat  yo'  kin  name.  But  he  gwine  ter  git  he  come-up-ance 
(punishment),  dat  he  wuz  !  an'  at  de  berry  time  dat  he  wuzzent 
'spectin'  nuttin.  Dishaways  'twuz  come  out  :  Ole  Woodpeckeh, 
he  sorter  hyeah  sumpin  an'  he  sorter  rouge  (rouse)  up  outen  he 
dreamin'  an'  cunjerin'  an'  he  say,  '  Wut  dis  I  hyeah  ?  ' 

"  De  chilluns,  dey  mek  arnser  back — 

"  '  Dunno  zackry  (exactly),  kase  yo'  ain't  lef  us  play  wid  de 
nabeh  buhds  much.' 

"  (Dat  wuz  troof  too,  kase  de  woodpeckeh  fam'bly  wuz 
quality,  an'  de  chilluns  wuzzent  'low  ter  run  roun'  an'  play  wid 
no  half-strainers  an'  trash.)  " 

"  Those  little  woodpeckers  must  have  been  awfully  lonesome," 
said  Tow  Head,  wiggling  her  foot  and  looking  both  conscious 
and  defiant. 

"  Nemmine  'bout  dat ;  dey  bin  mek  out  ter  hyeah  (they 
managed  to  learn)  dat  Ole  Blue  Jay  bin  a-raisin'  heap  o'  ruction 
roun'  in  dem  pahts  (parts). 

"  '  Daddy,'  dey  say,  '  Ole  Blue  Jay,  he  say  dat  he  am  boss  ob 
dis  neck  ob  de  woods,  an'  hit  'pears  lak  he  mean  hit  mo'n  (more 
than)  dat,  kase  he  bin  doin'  heap  o'  debbilment  de  las'  w'iles 
back.' 

"  Dat  mek  Ole  Woodpeckeh  orfle  mad. 

"  ( Boss  is  he  ?  '  sez  'e.  *  Well !  I  gwine  ter  see  'bout  dat. 
,  to  rear  up  like  a  horse,  or  curvet ;  to  show  spirit . 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  61 

Wen  I  wants  enny  debbilment  done  round  dis  hyeah  nabeh- 
hood,  I  lay  I  kin  do  hit  my  own  se'f, '  sez  'e. 

"  So  he  tell  Miss  Woodpeckeh  she  mought  ez  well  go  roun' 
a-visitin?  an'  see  ef  she  kin  pick  up  enny  'ticklers  'bout  Blue 
Jay  fum  de  nabehs,  kase  dese  marters  (matters)  boun'  ter  be 
look  inter. 

"  So  Miss  Woodpeckeh,  she  go,  an'  w'en  she  git  home  an' 
'gin  ter  tell  all  dat  she  gedder  up,  Ole  Woodpeckeh  he  dat  mad 
dat  he  whirl  in  an'  chop  down  er  good-size  hick'ry  tree  wid  he 
bill,  kase  he  boun'  ter  hit  sumpin,  an'  ef  he  ain't  hit  de  tree  he 
mought  a  hit  Miss  Woodpeckeh. 

"  Ez  he  chop,  he  mummle  an'  grummle,  lak  dis  hyeah — 

"  '  Gwine  ter  run  dese  woods,  is  he  ?  ' 

"Whack!  whack! 

"  '  Et  up  all  de  buhd-aigs,  hez  'e,  an'  bruck  up  all  dis  yeah's 
nestes  ?  * 

"  Whack  1  whack  1 

" '  Stole  er  hazel  nut  right  outen  de  fox-squir'1's  paw,  on'y 
yistiddy,  did  he  ?  ' 

"Whack!  whack! 

"  *  Peck  de  eye  clean  outen  Miss  Cat-Buhd's  darter's  haid, 
did  he?' 

"  Whack  !  whack  ! 

"  '  Bern's  fine  gwines-on,  ain't  dey  ? ' 

«  Whack ! 

"  ( I  'low  I  des  lub  foh  'im  ter  kip  right  on  (like  to  have  him 
continue).  Oh,  yes  !  ' 

"  Whack ! 

"  (  Mebbe  I  betteh  ax  Misteh  Jay  ef  I  kin  stay  hyeah,  ef  I 
'have  (behave)  myse'f,  an'  ax  no  questions.  Oh,  yes  ! ' 

"  Whack  !  whack  !  whack  ! 

"  An'  so,  suz  !  he  kep'  a-grittin'  he  toofs  an'  a-whackin'  de  tree 
an'  a-torkin'  unter  hisse'f,  twell  de  tree  come  a-crashin'  down, 
--r-r-ack  \- — snash  ! — crash  ! — boom  !  ezde trunk  fall, — bam! 


62  OLD  RABBIT,   THE   VOODOO, 

ez  de  lim's  slap  de  ground — an'  den,  squash  !  ez  de  leafy 
branches  queeveh  (quiver)  an'  settle  down  mungs  de  bustid 
undeh-bresh  an'  vines. 

"  My !  how  dat  ole  Woodpeckeh  did  go  on  !  Some  ob  de 
chips  dey  wuz  flung  so  high  dat  dey  lit  on  de  moon,  an'  dey 
dar  yit,  foh  all  dis  hyeah  niggeh  know. 

"  Wen  de  tree  kim  down,  Ole  Woodpeckeh  he  clumb  onter 
hit  an'  he  sot  dar  a-breevin  hahd  (breathing  hard),  an'  a-open- 
in*  an'  a-shettin'  he  eyes,  des  ez  ef  somebody  wuz  a-fannin'  um 
open  an'  shet. 

:c  All  de  time  he  doin'  dat,"  continued  Aunt  Mary  ;  after  a 
break  in  the  narrative  to  give  her  an  opportunity  to  depict 
Woodpecker's  mood  in  expressive  pantomime  ;  "  he  wuz  mekin' 
up  he  mine  (mind).  Wen  he  git  dat  done  ter  he  noshin  (to 
his  notion  or  mind),  he  holler  at  one  ob  de  chilluns  dat  wuz 
a-peekin'  round  de  aige  (edge)  ob  er  gum  stump. 

" (  Tell  yo'  mammy  notter  set  up  foh  me  dis  ebenin','  he  say. 
*  Mebbe  hit  mought  happen  dat  I  come  home  late,'  sez  'e,  sorter 
wallin'  up  he  eyeball. 

"  '  All  right,  daddy,'  holler  back  de  young  one,  den  away  de 
ole  man  flewed. 

"  He  flewed  an'  he  flewed,"  continued  Aunt  Mary,  contem- 
plating the  smoky  rafter  above  her,  from  one  end  to  the  other, 
as  if  on  it  she  could  trace  the  woodpecker's  flight,  "  des  lak 
chain-lightnin'  wuz  arter  'im.  He  flewed  an'  he  flewed  twell 
he  flewed  ter  whah  de  tall  cottonwoods  bin  t'ickest — not  ter  de 
Ul  cottonwoods  down  on  de  san'-bah  (sand-bar),  but  ter  de  big, 
big  ones  on  de  bluffs  furdest  back  fum  de  ribber.  Wen  he  git 
dar  he  don't  fly  fas'  enny  mo'.  He  fly  lil  way,  hop  HI  way,  fly 
HI  way  kine  o'  keerless  lak,  ez  ef  he  wuz  des  sorter  playin'  roun' 
an'  'muzin'  hisse'f  a-hummin'  er  chune. 

"  Wut  he  do  dat  foh  ?  Kase  he  knowed  Blue  Jay  wuzzent 
fur  off,  an'  he  'low  he  s'prise  'im. 

a  Putty  soon  arter,  he  hyeah  de  young  jay-buhds  a-squallin', 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  63 

an'  he  know  by  dat  dat  he  gwine  ter  meet  up  wid  dey  pa,  berry 
quick.  Shoh  nuff,  arter  w'iles,  he  see  Ole  Jay  come  a-sailin' 
thu  de  woods  an'  light  on  er  low-down  daid  limb.  My  1  he 
look  dat  peart  an'  sassy  a-stannin'  dar  an'  a-balluncin'  on  he 
lef  laig  de  w'iles  he  nibble  at  er  lil  stiaw  same  ez  ef  he  hab  er 
fine  seegyar  in  he  mouf.  He  stick  he  haid  on  one  side  w'en  he 
see  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  den  he  wink,  des  ez  peart  ez  er  free-niggeh 
buck  (young  man)  w'en  de  yaller  gals  go  by.  Den  he  spit  out 
de  straw  an'  he  holler — 
"  '  Hello,  ole  man  ! ' 

"  Ole  Woodpeckeh  choke  back  de  cuss  words  an'  he  say, 
4  Hello,'  too,  an'  try  foh  ter  look  'gree'ble. 

u  *  Git  stahve  (starve)  out  up  yo'  way  ?  '  Blue  Jay  ax, 
twissen  he  neck  roun'  an'  a-stirrin'  yundehneat  he  wing  foh 
lil  louse. 

"  '  N-not  dezackly,'  say  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  mos'  a-bustin',  he 
so  mad. 

"  *  Ef  yo'  hongry,  des  stir  roun'  an'  ketch  yo'se'f  er  wuhm  out 
o'  my  trees,'  sez  Blue  Jay,  sez  'e,  a-combin'  out  he  tail-fedders 
wid  he  bill,  an'  no  mo'  a-lookin'  todes  (towards)  Ole  Wood- 
peckeh den  ef  he  wuz  er  las'  yeah's  aig-shell. 

"  '  'Bleeged,  Ise  shore,'  sez  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  a-whettin'  he 
bill  on  er  limb.  *  You's  de  boss  ob  dese  woods,  I  spoge  (sup- 
pose) ? ' 

"  At  dat,  Blue  Jay  he  fetched  er  sorter  cackle.  '  Des  jedge 
foh  yo'se'f,'  sez  'e.  *  /  ain't  mekkin'  no  brags,'  sez  'e,  *  but  I  'low 
nobody  in  dese  hyeah  woods  am  a-denyin'  dat  I  des  natchelly 
gwine  ter  lam  de  stuffin'  outen  'im,  ef  he  gib  me  enny  sass,'  sez  'e. 
" «  Uh-huh  ! '  sez  Woodpeckeh,  sez  'e.  '  Uh-huh  !  Ise 
mighty  glad  yo'  tole  me.  Ef  yo'  hatten  ter  (had  not)  tole  me 
I  mought  a  cut  er  shine  ur  two  my  own  se'f.  W'iles  I  'bout 
hit  dough,  I  reckon  I  mought  ez  well  mek  dat  bold  ter  ax  yo', 
did  yo'  evveh  hyeah  tell  dat  /  wuz  ownin'  er  heap  o'  proppity 
roun'  in  dese  hyeah  pahts  ?  ' 


64  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  (  Yes  I  reckon  mebbe  I  mought  a-hyurn  (have  heard)  dat/ 
sez  Blue  Jay,  '  but,  good  Ian' !  ef  I  hez,  I  done  fegit  um.  I'm 
got  nurr  kine  ob  fish  ter  fry  sidesen  a-loadin'  up  my  'mem- 
bunces  'ith  urr  folks'  ole  wo' -out  (worn  out)  brags,'  sez  'e. 

"  *  Who  braggin'  ?  wut  brags  yo'  torkin'  (talking)  'bout  ?  ' 
say  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  breevin'  mighty  hot  an'  quick  an* 
a-torkin'  way  down  in  he  stummick. 

"  ' Yourn,  ef  hit  come  ter  dat,'  sez  Blue  Jay,  sez  'e,  a-stompinr 
on  de  limb  lak  he  feel  so  good  dat  he  gwine  ter  pat  Juba  de 
nex'  minnit. 

"  '  Tek  dat,  den  ! '  holler  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  a-hittin'  'im  er 
clip  dat  des  nigh  split  'im  open.  Ise  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  I  is, 
an'  Tse  gwine  ter  boss  dese  hyeah  woods  des  ez  I  alms  hab 
enduin'  (during)  ob  de  forty-'lebin  yeahs  I  bin  hyeah  (here)  befor 
de  debbil  tuck  ter  mekin'  blue  jays.  Yo'  hyeah  me  !  Yah  !  don't 
yo'  cock  up  yo'  laig  at  me  lak  dat,  yo'  sassy  trash,  yo'  !  Come 
on,  den  !  Come  on  !  ' 

"  *  Don't  yo'  try  ter  cunjer  me,  yo'  ole  bag  o'  shucks,'  Blue 
Jay  holler  back,  '  kase  hit  kyarn't  be  did,  no  hit  kyarn't  ! ' 

"  *  Cunjer  nuttin,'  sez  Ole  Woodpeckeh.  *  Who  gwine  ter 
tek  de  trouble  ter  cunjer  sitch  er  low-life,  sneakin',  ole  aig- 
sucker  ez  yo'  ?  Des  lay  down  an'  lemme  tromple  de  lights 
outen  yo'.  Hit'll  save  me  time  an'  you  trouble,'  sez  'e. 

"  Den  Blue  Jay  low  hit  time  someun  teach  dat  low -flung 
red-head  mannehs  (manners).  ( I  des  wisht,'  sez  'e,  (  dat  dat 
HI  pee- wee  buhd  'u'd  come  'long  an'  tek  dis  triflin'  bizniz  offen 
my  ban's,'  sez  'e,  ( but  ez  him  an'  all  de  turr  buhds  is  a-tendin' 
ter  dey  own  marters,  study  (steadily),  I  reckon  I  boun'  ter 
string  yo'  'long  de  ground  my  own  se'f,'  sez  'e,  an'  wid  dat  he 
spit  on  he  claw  an'  he  rattle  he  bill  an'  he  set  ter  wuhk  ;  anr 
dar  dey  hed  hit,  up  an'  down,  roun'  an'  roun',  back  an'  fo'th 
twell  des  'bout  sundown.  Long  'fo'  dat  dough,  Ole  Blue  Jay's 
bref  come  mighty  shawt  (short),  he  haht  (heart)  ack  lak  she 
gwine  ter  bust  thu  he  ribs  an'  he  tongue  feel  lak  dat  ole  straw 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  65 

he  wuz  a-chewin'  w'en  woodpeckeh  fust  lit.  Sidesen  dat,  he'd 
a  giner  holler  log  cramful  ob  aigs  (eggs) — ef  he'd  hed  um — 
foh  des  one  sup  o'  cole  watteh  (cold  water),  but,  de  laws  o' 
massy  !  he  ain't  git  no  watteh,  wut  he  git  wuz  de  bes'  kine 
o'  er  lickin'.  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  des  natchelly  lay  'im  out — 
bedout  (without)  cunjerin,  at  dat — an'  dat  breshin'  o'  he  hide 
done  'im  heaps  ob  good  an'  last  'im  long  time,  too." 

As  Aunt  Mary  finished  there  was  a  mighty  clapping  at  the 
door,  as  if  two  broad  and  vigorous  palms  were  impelled  by  a 


OLE    BLUE  JAY    LAID    OUT. 

perfect  frenzy  of  applause.  She  screamed  in  affected  dismay, 
lifted  one  shoulder  and  drooped  the  other,  clapped  her  hands 
over  her  mouth  and  sank  back  as  if  she  were  faint  just  as 
Granny  ushered  in  the  visitor. 

"  Dellaws  !  (La  !)  Misteh  Palmer,"  she  simpered,  "  I  kyarn't 
speak  ter  yo'  yit.  Yo'  skeered  me  dat  bad,  my  haht  (heart)  am 
des  right  up  in  my  mouf." 

"  I  wisht  yo'd  spit  hit  out  an'  let  me  pick  hit  up,"  responded 
the  "  genterman,"  gallantly 

"  Tee,  hee  !  "  giggled  Aunt  Mary,  turning  away  her  head, 

6 


66  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

but  holding  out  her  hand.  "  How  menny  time  is  yo'  say  dat, 
endu'in'  ob  de  las'  week,  Misteh  Palmer  ?  n 

"  I  ain't  say  hit  none,  bekase  I  ain't  see  yo'  none,"  answered 
"  Misteh  "  or  as  Tow  Head  was  accustomed  to  say,  "  Uncle 
John  "  Palmer,  with  elegant  deliberation.  "  Wut  I  mought 
a.-thunk  am  sumpin  different.  Dey  is  times  in  de  cose  (course) 
ob  er  genterman's persistence  (existence)  dat  he  t'oughts  foller  de 
lady  ob  he  ch'ice  ez  de  shadder  follers  de  tree.  My  deah  miss, 
yo'  hez  hed  de  'zervence  ob  dat  befo'  yo'  eyes  dis  long  time." 

Aunt  Mary  was  so  overcome  by  this  that  she  was  forced  to 
pull'  the  kerchief  off  her  neck  and  stuff  a  liberal  portion  of  it  in 
her  mouth  to  smother  her  laughter. 

Uncle  John  rolled  his  eyes  at  her,  "  lak  er  dyin'  calf,"  as 
Granny  afterwards  told  Aunt  Mymee,  grinned  slightly,  and 
then  sighed  deeply  as  he  subsided  into  a  chair. 

"  Don't  yo'  sive  (sigh)  lak  dat,"  expostulated  Granny.  "  Yo'll 
draw  all  de  fiah  out  o'  de  chiinbly  an'  blow  lil  missey  hyeah 
clean  thu  de  winder." 

"Er  genterman  kyarn't  allus  keep  down  he  feelin's,"  said 
Uncle  John,  with  another  tender  glance  towards  the  object  of 
his  affections,  "  but  I  gwine  ter  be  keerful  dis  ebenin',  I  sholy 
is.  An'  how  is  de  lil  missey  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  towards  the 
child  and  speaking  in  a  more  sprightly  tone. 

Tow  Head  was  well  and  said  so.  Of  her  own  accord  she 
added  that  the  baby  was  well  too. 

"  Uh-huh  !  I  t'ought  dat  mole-foot  fetch  'im  !  "  exclaimed 
Uncle  John,  with  satisfaction.  "  De  chile  dat  am  cuttin' 
toofses  am  bound  ter  hab  de  right  fore-foot  ob  er  mole,  ur  er 
necklash  (necklace)  ob  elder  twigs,  ur  er  brack  silk  bag  wid  de 
dried  up  breens  (brains)  ob  er  rabbit  in  hit,  else  he  cut  um  hahd. 
Ef  I'd  a  had  de  infamashun  sooneh  dat  he  wuz  a-cuttin'  I  c'd 
a-save  dat  po'  lamb  er  heap  o'  suff 'rin'." 

"  De  trouble  wuz,"  said  Granny,  "  dat  dem  shif 'less  young 
niggahs  dat  Mymee  'low  ter  tote  (carry)  dat  chile,  lef  'im  look 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  67 

in  de  lookin'  glass.     Dat  allus  mek  er  baby  cut  he  toofs  hahd." 

"  Troof,  too,  Aunt  Jinny,  but  de  molefoot  fix  'im." 

"  I  dunno,"  grumbled  Granny,  "  w'y  Mymee,  ef  she  kin 
cunjer  so  big,  ain't  cunjer  de  misery  out  o'  dat  chile's  gums." 

"  Some  kin  cunjer  'bout  one  t'ing,  some  'bout  nurr,"  said 
Uncle  John,  easily.  "  Now,  Aunt  Mymee,  she  got  de  name 
mungs  de  gyurls  dat  she  am  er  daid  shot  at  mekkin1  de  han'  o1 
lub  (hand  of  love — a  voodoo  charm  which  insures  marital 
felicity)  an'  huh  lub-powdehs  dey  go  right  ter  de  spot,  time  an' 
time  ergin,  but  de  man  dat  mek  de  bes'  Jack  (spell  or  charm) 
goin',  he  sets  right  befo'  yo'." 

"  How  yo'  mek  um  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Mary,  turning  around. 

"  Ef  yo'  gimme  dat  HI  w'ite  luck-stone  Adam  gib  yo',  I  let 
yo'  hab  mine  an'  tell  yo  wut's  in  hit,"  Uncle  John  answered. 

Aunt  Mary  demurred. 

"  I'll  t'row  in  my  rabbit-foot,  foh  boot,"  added  Uncle  John. 

"  W'ich  foot  ?  " 

"  Right  fo'-foot.  I  don't  stop  at  keepin'  off  bad-luck  'ith  de 
lef '  hine-foot,  I  hones  (desire)  arter  downright  good-luck  an1 
so  I  kerries  de  fo'-foot  foh  dat." 

"  Lemme  see  um." 

The  foot  and  the  "  Jack,"  which  latter  was  a  small  buckskin 
bag  tied  with  white  yarn,  were  produced  from  some  secret 
receptacle  between  Uncle  John's  heart  and  his  ancient  broad- 
cloth vest. 

"  Wut  sort  o*  Jack's  dat  ?  "  Aunt  Mary  asked. 

"  'Tain't  none  o'  yo'  ole  cheap  snakeweed  { tricks'  ;  hit  am 
kimpoge  (composed)  o'  de  best  brimstun  to  de  'mount  ob  er 
teaspoonful,  an'  de  same  o'  alum,  'sides  er  chunk  ob  er  root  ob 
Conquer-John  (Solomon's  Seal — Pohgonatum  biflorum),  an'  er 
pinch  ob  salt." 

"  Wen  Wash  wuz  a  libbin',  he  gin  me  a  Jack  wid  may- 
apple  root  an'  red  clober  in  hit." 

"  Dat,"  said  Uncle  John,  "  wuz  good  at  dem  times,  but  'tain't 


68  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

no  good  ter  de  single  pussons — ez  I  bress  de  Lawd  yo'  am  at 
dis  minnit — seein'  yo'  ain't  double  up  wid  me" 

This  last  compliment  so  "  fetched  de  feelin's,"  of  Aunt  Mary 
that  she  agreed  to  exchange  fetiches.  Accordingly,  she  pro- 
duced the  luck-stone,  a  circular  white  pebble  about  three- 
fourths  of  an  inch  in  diameter  and  of  the  thickness  of  a  silver 
dollar. 

Uncle  John  scrutinised  it  carefully. 

"  Hit's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  wuz  a-lookin'  ter  see  ef  hit 
hed  enny  brack  lines  ur  specks.  Dat  kine  is  pizen  bad  luck  foh 
de  one  dat  kerries  um,  an'  some  low-flung  niggehs  is  ob  de 
meanness  o'  sperit  ter  parm  um  off  on  dey  bettehs.  Now,  ef 
de  brack  wuz  brack  lettehs  dat's  diffunt  in  de  respecks  o'  bein' 
turrwise.  I  wunst  hed  er  stone,  dat  I  found  on  de  aige  (edge)  ob 
er  crik,  dat  hed  er  A  an'  er  B  an'  nurr  letteh  dat  I  kyarn't  at  dis 
minnit  name,  'pun  'count  ob  de  entitle  ob  hit  a-slippin'  my 
membry.  Dat  stone  fotch  an'  pejuce  (produce)  de  best  o'  luckr 
but,  misfortnitly,  I  drap  um  out  o'  my  pockit  an'  tromp  on  um 
w'en  I  wuz  a-sarchin'  for  ter  find  um.  Wen  I  lif '  up  dis  hyeah 
stremiky  o'  mine,"  continued  Uncle  John,  lifting  an  extremity 
that  must  have  been  the  despair  of  shoemakers,  "  dey  wuzzent 
much  lef '  o'  dat  luck-stone." 

This  conversation  had  been  carried  on  in  a  low  tone,  as  it 
was  not  considered  suitable  for  the  child's  ears.  Granny,  with 
the  best  intentions  towards  all  parties,  had  endeavoured  to  hold 
her  attention  by  telling  a  wonderful  tale  of  a  "  fine  hoss-hair 
bunnit,"  once  owned  by  "  Miss  Agnes,"  but  Tow  Head's  ears 
were  as  keen  as  a  young  fox's,  and  the  only  words  she  missed 
were  those  not  intended  for  her  ears. 

"  I  wish  J  had  a  luck-stone,"  she  said,  walking  over  to  Uncle 
John  and  laying  a  hand  on  his  knee. 

"  Des  wait  twell  yo'  grow  up,"  said  Uncle  John,  smiling 
foolishly,  "  an'  I  bound  dat  yo'  git  er  fine  one  in  de  meantimes  ; 
I  gwine  ter  hab  de  pledger  (pleasure)  ter  sing  yo'  er  song  'bout 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  69 

4  Peekin'  Will  de  Weaver,'  dat   am,   onless  yo'   ain't  got  de 
pashuns  (patience)  ter  lissen  unter  er  ole  squawker  lak  me.'' 

When  was  there  a  time  that  Tow  Head  was  not  all  eagerness 
to  hear  a  story  or  song  ?  Her  enthusiasm  moved  Uncle  John 
to  begin  at  once.  He  patted  a  few  strokes  by  way  of  prelude, 
"  wished  ter  gracious  he  had  brought  his  banjo,"  threw  in  an 
explanation  to  the  effect  that  Will  had  dumb  on  de  roof  o'  de 
cabin  an'  wuz  a-peekin'  down  de  chimbly,"  and  then  burst 
forth  in  the  following  irregular  melody  : — 

"  Did  yo'  evveh  see  a  chimney-sweeper 
Half  so  black  as  Will  de  weaver? 
Carry  him  off  on  de  joke, 
He'll  come  no  more  to  stop  my  smoke. 

I  built  me  up  a  rousing  fire, 

I  built  it  to  my  own  desire. 

Hit's  up  the  chimny  de  fire  went  blazin', 

Hit's  down  de  chimhley  he  kim  gazin'. 

Den  de  nasty  wretched  soul 

Laid  stretched  out  on  de  chimbly-pole. 

Den  thu  de  room  'ith  my  foot  I  kicked  'im. 
Den  ev'y  time  I  kicked  'im  he  spoke, 
'  I'll  corne  no  mo'  ter  stop  yo'  smoke.' 
Den  out  de  do'  'ith  my  foot  I  kicked  'im, 
An'  ez  out  de  do'  'ith  my  foot  I  kicked  'im, 
Den  out  de  gate  my  dog  did  shake  'im, 
An'  ev'y  time  he  shook  'im  he  spoke, 
'  I'll  come  no  mo'  ter  stopyo'  smoke.' 

Now  he  foot  in  he  hand  an'  he  clo'es  likewise, 
Carry  'im  off  wid  he  two  brack  eyes. 
Now,  hit's  carry  'im  off  on  de  joke, 
Les'  I  t'ink  ergin  I'll  mek  'im  smoke." 


VI. 

HOW    WOODPECKER    MADE    A    BAT;    ALSO    SOME 

OTHER    FACTS  OF   NATURAL    HISTORY   NOT 

GENERALLY  KNOWN. 

WHEN  Tow  Head  hurried  into  the  cabin  the  next  evening,  all 
eagerness  to  see  if  Uncle  John  was  present  with  his  banjo,  she 
was  greatly  disappointed  to  find  that  the  only  "  company  "  was 
Big  Angy.  Her  greeting  had  so  little  warmth  in  it  that  Big 
Angy  considered  a  grunt  the  only  reply  necessary,  and  at  once 
went  on  with  her  interrupted  conversation. 

"  Oh-wee  (om),"  she  said,  "  me  know  dem  woodpeckeh  man, 
well.  Him  de  rouge-nain — de  petit  homme  rouge.  Sartain  !  Ef 
I  know  dat  Aunt  Mary  tell  o'  heem,  I  be  hyeah  las'  night. 
Oh,  me  know  ! — va  /— H-s-s-t !  de  tale  of  de  bat,  I  kin  tell  hit." 

"  Dat's  good  news,"  said  Granny,  cheerfully.  "  Des  go  right 
on  wid  um,  Miss  Boogary.  We  is  all  got  owah  yeahs  (ears) 
cocked  foh  hit." 

Big  Angy  went  "  right  on,"  as  nearly  as  her  discursive  pre- 
dilections would  allow,  but  her  tales  had  at  the  best  of  times 
"  many  a  windin'  'bout "  that  was  not  "  linked  sweetness."  As 
her  dialect,  which  was  neither  French,  Indian,  nor  yet  plain 
Darkey,  but  contained  all  three  elements  capriciously  mingled, 
was  like  that  famous  mare  that  had  only  two  faults — "  hard  to 
catch  and  no  account  when  caught " — it  can  serve  no  good 
purpose  to  repeat  any  great  amount  of  it.  "  Biled  down,"  to 

quote  Granny,  the  story  is  this  : — 

70 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO.  71 

In  the  old  times,  when  Woodpecker's  family  was  very  young, 
he  was  once  out  on  the  prairie  looking  for  medicine.  He  was  gone 
a  long  while.  What  he  sought  he  was  longer  in  finding  than  he 
had  expected  he  should  be.  When  he  was  successful  he  still 
loitered,  and  was  in  no  hurry  to  get  home.  He  had  with  him 
his  magical  whistle  made  from  the  bone  of  an  eagle's  wing,  and 
he  would  have  played  strange  music  on  it  had  he  not  heard  the 
doctor  of  the  prairie-chickens  pounding  on  his  drum.  u  Some- 
thing is  going  on,"  said  Woodpecker,  and  he  hid  himself  in  a 
thicket  of  plums  and  burning-bush  (bitter-sweet),  hoping  he 
might  learn  some  more  magic,  for  Prairie- Chicken  knew  a  great 
deal,  but  as  he  was  no  friend  of  Woodpecker  he  never  imparted 
to  him  any  secrets.  He  listened  eagerly,  but  the  sound  of  the 
drum  ceased  suddenly,  and  he  heard  voices.  He  looked  sharply 
into  the  grass  and  saw  a  field-mouse,  then  he  glanced  into  a 
thick  tangle  of  vines  and  saw  a  small,  ill-favoured  night-hawk. 
He  gave  heed  to  their  conversation,  at  first  from  idle  curiosity, 
but  he  soon  had  a  much  stronger  interest.  The  two  were 
discussing  how  they  could  best  contrive  to  get  Woodpecker's 
family  for  supper.  This  they  wished  not  merely  because  the 
young  ones  were  fine  eating,  but  because  whosoever  ate  them 
would  have  great  power  in  sorcery.  They  further  decided  to 
contrive  that  the  blame  should  be  laid  either  on  Black-Snake 
or  Catamount.  After  much  discussion,  they  agreed  that  Black- 
Snake  should  bear  the  punishment  of  their  misdeeds.  The  first 
plan  was  to  eat  all  the  little  woodpeckers  but  one,  themselves, 
then  invite  him  to  sup  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  where  the  nest 
was,  give  him  the  last  one,  and  hurry  away.  Even  if  old  Wood- 
pecker did  not  find  him,  his  slimy  track  would  betray  the  fact 
of  his  visit.  This  plan  was  not  quite  satisfactory  ;  the  wicked 
ones  feared  that  the  feast  would  make  Black-Snake  too  wise  to 
fall  a  victim  to  their  wiles,  so  they  concluded  it  would  be  safest 
to  feed  him  with  a  toad.  This  settled,  the  next  point  was  to  get 
old  Woodpecker  and  his  wife  out  of  the  way.  This  was  easy 


72  OLD  RABBIT,  THE   VOODOO, 

enough  to  manage.  They  remembered  hearing  Woodpecker's 
wife  say  it  was  a  time  of  year  that  they  hid  themselves  and  had 
dreams.  So  all  things  promised  well.  Field-Mouse  went  home. 
Night-Hawk  went  to  sleep  among  the  leaves.  Woodpecker 
quietly  flew  to  his  tree.  At  once  he  sent  the  children  away, 
not,  however,  before  he  had  plucked  a  feather  from  the  wing  of 
each.  These  feathers  he  blew  into  the  air,  and  they  came  back 
to  him  birds.  All  but  one  of  these  magical  birds  he  put  into 


WOODPECKER    MAKING    BIRDS. 

the  nest  lately  filled  by  his  children.  The  one  he  kept  out  he 
carried  down  to  the  river  bank  and  filled  with  pebbles.  "  Take 
care  you  are  the  last  bird  eaten  by  Field -Mouse,"  he  com- 
manded. The  magical  bird  promised  obedience,  and  was 
dropped  into  the  nest  with  the  others. 

That   night  the   hawk  and   the   mouse  went  to  the   nest, 
Mouse  riding  on  Hawk's  back  like  a  witch  riding  an  owl.    They 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


73 


ate  all  the  birds,  and  enjoyed  the  feast  with  wicked  delight  and 
triumph.  Last  of  all  was  eaten  the  bird  fed  on  pebbles.  Then 
Mouse  mounted  again,  and  Hawk  endeavoured  to  fly  down 
from  the  tree.  He  could  not  move,  he  was  pressed  flat  against 
the  limb  on  which  he  sat.  When  he  found  what  a  burden 
Mouse  had  become  he  reproached  her  bitterly  for  her  greedi- 
ness. 

She  was  angry,  but  gave  him  no  answer  ;  she  could  not 
speak,  so  sick  and  oppressed  she  felt  from  the  weight  inside  of 
her. 


//  A  o. 

OLE    WOODPECKEH,    MOUSE,    AND   NIGHT-HAWK. 

Hawk  became  furious,  and  tried  to  throw  her  off,  but  she 
clung  to  him  desperately. 

They  had  a  long  struggle,  and  during  its  continuance  she 
kicked  holes  in  his  back  and  her  feet  slipped  into  them.  When 
they  at  length  fell  to  the  ground,  her  weight  still  held  them  fast 
together,  so  in  terror  and  hatred  they  fought  and  wrenched  each 
other  as  they  lay  on  the  earth.  The  struggle  lasted  all  night. 
In  the  morning  Mouse  threw  up  the  pebbles,  but  that  did  her  no 
good.  She  had  grown  fast  to  Night-Hawk,  and  to  this  day  has 
continued  to  be  a  part  of  him.  This  is  very  terrible  for  both, 
but  they  cannot  help  it.  Now  they  are  called  "  Bat,"  as  if  they 


74  OLD  RABBIT,   THE   VOODOO, 

were  one.  Another  thing  remember  concerning  them  :  so 
awful  is  the  memory  of  that  night  when  they  were  made  one, 
and  so  fearful  are  they  of  being  filled  up  with 
pebbles  again,  that  they  always  rest  and  sleep 
head  downwards,  as  any  one  can  bear  wit- 
ness who  has  ever  seen  a  bat  in  repose. 

When  Big  Angy  had  finished  she  assumed 
a  severe  cast  of  countenance,  and  looked  into 
the  fire  as  if  no  thought  of  applause  or  ad- 
MOUSE  HAWK.        miration  had  ever  crossed  her  mind. 
"  Dat  er  mighty  fine  tale,"  said  Granny,  emphatically. 
"  So    'tis,    tee-hee  !      So    'tis,    tee-hee  !    hee  !    hee  !    hee  !  " 
snickered  Aunt  Mary. 

"  That  other  one,"  affirmed  Tow  Head,  in  a  still,  small  voice, 
"  was  better,  and  so  was  Aunt  Mary's  story  about  the  fight. 
Do  you  think,  Mrs.  Boogarry,  that  this  Mr.  Woodpecker  is  the 
one  that  lived  in  the  cloud  at  the  top  of  the  tree  ?  " 

"  'E  ain't  say  ter  me  ef  'e  wuz  ur  ef  'e  wuzzent,"  growled 
Angy,  without  turning  her  eyes  from  the  fire.  "  Yo'  dat  smaht, 
missey,  yo'  berr  g'  long  an'  ax  urn." 

"  I  would,  if  I  knew  where  he  lived,"  sighed  Tow  Head,  ubut 
you  see  I  don't.  Could  you  show  me  the  way  ?  "  she  asked, 
suddenly  brightening. 

Angy  gave  a  short  laugh  and  looked  around.  u  Me  do  dat 
w'en  de  fros'  git  out  de  ground,"  she  said,  with  a  wink  at  Aunt 
Mary  and  Granny.  "  Dish  not  de  time  de  yeah  foh  huntin* 
nuttin  'ceppen  rabbit  !  " 

"  Tell  me  a  rabbit  story,"  said  Tow  Head,  promptly. 
Big  Angy  shook  her  head.     "  We  ain't  at  de  eend  o'  Wood- 
peckeh  yit,"  she  said,  decidedly. 

"  Let  us  hurry,  then  !  "  cried  the  child,  impatiently.  "  Aunt 
Mymee  will  come  for  me  as  soon  as  she  rocks  the  baby  to  sleep, 
and  I  do,  do,  DO  want  to  hear  a  rabbit  story.  What  else  did 
Woodpecker  do  ?  " 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  75 

"  Sot  er  man  crezzy  (crazy)  dot  bin  my  fren'  an'  kill  'im  at  de 
las',"  said  Big  Angy,  sententiously. 

Tow  Head  gave  the  same  sort  of  a  delighted  shiver  as  that 
with  which  she  always  greeted  the  account  of  little  David 
holding  up  big  Goliath's  head. 

"  Oh  I  oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  do  tell  it  quickly.  Never  mind  the 
knitting.  I'm  sure  you're  working  on  my  mittens,  and  I  don't 
need  them.  When  I  go  out  of  doors  I  can  roll  my  hand  up  in 
my  apron,  just  like  Aunt  Mymee  does.  Doii't  stop  to  count 
stitches  !  " 

Big  Angy  was  in  no  mind  to  let  the  stitches  go.  She  counted 
and  re-counted  at  the  scrap  of  work  she  had  taken  from  her 
bosom  as  she  finished  her  story,  until  it  seemed  as  if  she 
had  counted  stitches  enough  to  cover  the  hand  of  a  giant. 
When  she  was  through,  she  took  one  stitch  and  then  counted 
all  over  again  with  extreme  deliberation. 

Aunt  Mary  looked  at  Tow  Head,  giggled,  and  then  retired 
to  a  corner  to  meditate  on  the  withering  look  Granny  cast  upon 
her. 

"  Hit,"  drawled  Angy,  "  was  Jean— Jean  Lavallette — that  lib 
in  de  big  plastered  house  in  de  uppeh  bottom.  Jean,  he  bin  rich. 
He  papa  gin  'im  lots  o'  Ian',  lots  o'  money." 

"Dat  wuz  good,"  commented  Granny,  removing  her  pipe 
from  her  lips  for  a  moment  and  stirring  in  the  smoking  bowl  of 
it  with  her  little  finger  ;  "  but  dat  all  dey  wuz  (that  is  all  there 
was)  good  'bout  Jean,  sholy.  I  knowed  'im.  In  de  p'ints  o' 
fack  I  laid  dat  po',  mizzible  sinneh  out.  He  wuz  the  leastest 
putty  cawpse  dat  e'er  fill  up  er  coffin,  dat  I  knows." 

Angy  cared  nothing  about  Jean's  lack  of  beauty  as  a  corpse, 
she  went  right  on  with  her  story  and  stated,  presumably  to  the 
back  log,  for  her  gaze  never  turned  from  it,  that  Jean  was  rich, 
that  he  married  a  beautiful  wife,  rich  also  in  ponies,  cattle,  and 
land.  So  well  off  was  he  that  he  had  no  need  to  work.  He 
became  a  very  idle  fellow,  he  laid  on  the  grass  and  thought  of 


76  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

nothing.  Because  one  cannot  always  do  nothing  at  all  but  eat 
and  smoke,  in  mere  wantonness  of  spirit  he  took  to  throwing 
stones  at  the  birds.  He  began  with  the  jays  and  robins,  because 
they  hopped  about  him  and  seemed  to  mock  his  laziness.  When 
he  had  grown  so  expert  at  his  wicked  pastime  of  striking  the 
little  creatures  that  his  very  first  throw  stunned  the  one  he 
aimed  at,  he  was  no  more  content  to  kill  robins  and  jays,  he 
slaughtered  indiscriminately.  Soon  none  were  left  but  wood- 
peckers. "  Have  care,"  said  his  friends  to  the  bold  fellow  ; 
" it  is  the  worst  of  luck  to  get  the  ill-will  of  le  nain  rouge* 
Some  of  these  woodpeckers  about  here  are  real  birds,  but 
we  know  not  which  feathered  skin  hides  the  sorcerer  or  his 
children." 

At  such  warnings  Jean  only  laughed,  or  if  he  said  anything 
it  was  to  boast  loudly  that  he  had  killed  woodpeckers  and  would 
do  it  again. 

Mark  the  result.  After  killing  woodpeckers  it  was  no  time 
at  all  until  he  took  to  drink.  Oh  !  not  merely  to  getting 
drunk  at  the  dances  and  on  holidays,  that,  to  be  sure,  was 
to  be  expected,  but  he  took  to  keeping  the  jug  always  at 
his  right  hand,  and  truly  the  weeds  never  had  a  chance  to 
grow  while  it  was  still.  Drink,  drink,  drink  he  would,  from 
sun-up  to  sundown,  and  from  starlight  to  sun-up  again,  even 
reaching  out  for  the  eau-de-vie  in  his  sleep.  For  the  matter  of 
that,  he  was  never  quite  awake,  nor  quite  asleep,  though  almost 
all  the  time  he  breathed  as  if  the  black  dog  of  the  witches  were 
in  his  throat. 

All  things  went  wrong  with  the  farm,  in  spite  of  Isabel's  hard 
work  and  care,  and  because  of  this,  the  bewitched  creature 
would  sometimes  rouse  up  and  curse  her.  One  day,  when  she 

1  The  red  dwarf.  The  earliest  Latin  races,  Etruscan  and  Sabine,  recognised 
in  the  woodpecker  "  the  red  dwarf,"  or  red-capped  goblin,  whom  they  called 
Pequ,  Picus,  and  Picumnus.  Hence  from  Pic,  the  word  pecker — Vide  Preller, 
Roman  Mythologie. — C.  G.  L. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  77 

was  at  work  in  the  field,  the  baby  took  a  fit  and  died,  with  Jean 
looking  on  and  doing  nothing. 

Isabel  buried  the  baby  and  went  home  to  her  father. 

Then  the  stock  was  stolen,  the  prairie-fire  took  the  fences, 
the  fodder  rotted  in  the  fields.  He  looked  about  him,  one  morn- 
ing, frosty  enough  to  brighten  his  wits,  and  found  not  even  the 
smallest  of  small  pigs  was  left  to  him.  He  was  hungry,  he  went 
to  catch  a  fish.  As  he  started,  he  saw  a  woodpecker  running 
along  a  tree-trunk.  Full  of  fury,  he  swore  terribly,  and  flung  the 
empty  whiskey -jug  directly  at  it.  In  an  instant,  what  a  change  ! 
The  bird  was  a  man,  small,  fierce,  terrible,  breathing  flame.  It 
flung  a  dart  of  lightning  through  him,  it  spit  flames,  into  his 
eyes.1  He  fell  insensible  from  pain  and  fright,  and  knew  no 
more  until  evening,  when  some  neighbours  happened  to  pass 
along,  and  found  him  more  dead  than  alive.  For  a  long  time 
after  they  had  restored  his  consciousness,  he  shrieked  and  raved 
of  the  little  red  man,  and  many  times  told  all  that  had  hap- 
pened. Nothing,  not  even  holy  water,  did  him  any  good. 
After  much  suffering  he  died,  and  no  wonder,  for  there  is  no 
limit  to  the  power  of  an  offended  homme  rouge. 

Tow  Head  was  speechless.  Aunt  Mymee  came  in  with  a 
peremptory  command  for  her  "  to  show  herself  mejumly  (imme- 
diately) at  de  House,"  and  she  was  not  loth  to  obey.  She  was 
really  sorry  when,  in  answer  to  a  most  flattering  invitation, 
Aunt  Mymee  agreed  to  stop  a  few  moments  and  "  top  off  de 
ebenin'  wid  a  chune  (tune)." 

"  Don't,"  entreated  Tow  Head. 

'*  Des  er  minnit,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  retiring,  with 
the  child  in  her  arms,  to  the  corner  farthest  from  the  others. 

"  Now,  ladies,  mek  ready  foh  de  co-is  (chorus),  an*  git  yor 
moufs  in  chune." 

1  The  Romans  were  very  much  afraid  of  being  blinded  by  the  woodpecker. 
To  prevent  this  they  carried  as  a  charm  either  the  root  of  the  red  peony,  or 
red  coral.— C.  G.  L. 


78  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

The  "  ladies  "  "  chuned  up  "  by  laying  down  their  pipes  and 
opening  their  mouths. 
Mymee  began — 

"  Death-watch  tickin'  in  de  wall." 

To  which  they  responded   with   all  the   strength  of  their 
lungs— 

"  Hyo  !  hyo,  niggah  !  " 
"De  bigges'  tree  is  boun'  ter  fall." 

"  Hyo  !  hyo,  niggah  1  " 
"  Ole  man  count  he  steers  an'  crap." 

"  Hyo  !  hyo,  niggah  1 " 
"  Des  wait  ole  man,  yo'  gwine  ter  drap." 

"  Hyo !  hyo,  niggah  1  " 
"  O,  gentermens,  look  out !  look  out !" 

"  Hyo !  hyo,  niggah !  " 
"  De  Ole  Bad  Man,  he  mighty  stout." 

"  Hyo  !  hyo,  niggah  !  " 
"  Yo'  git  flung  down  befo'  yo'  t'ink. ' 

"  Hyo  !  hyo,  niggah  1 " 
'*  Den,  in  de  pit  yo'  bile  an'  swink." 

"  Hyo  !  hyo,  niggah  !  " 


VII. 

WOODPECKER  AND  GREY  WOLF-WOODPECKER,  THE 
HUNTER,  AND  DOG— HOW  REDBIRD  CAME  BY 
HIS  BRILLIANT  PLUMAGE. 

THE  next  evening  there  was  a  most  delightful  reunion  in  the 
cabin.  Aunt  Em'ly  was  with  her  friends  again,  after  many 
days'  absence.  One  of  her  sons  had  been  "  in  trouble,"  owing 
to  his  having  confused  the  laws  of  meum  and  tuum  one  pleasant 
night,  when  by  chance  he  stepped  into  a  neighbour's  hen-house. 

"  Des  wut  I  'spected,"  Granny  had  commented,  severely, 
when  she  heard  that  the  youthful  Elisha  languished  in  the 
41  calaboose."  '•  I  blames  dat  up  ergin  Em'ly,  I  does  so.  Wen 
dat  chile  wuz  er  baby,  spites  o'  all  I  c'd  lay  offen  my  tongue 
(could  say),  Em'ly  use  ter  cut  dat's  chile's  fingeh  nails  wid 
de  scissus,  stiddier  a-bitin'  urn  off.  In  cose  dat  wuz  bound  ter 
mek  'im  er  t'ief." 

So  said  they  all  of  them,  but  they  were  good  to  Aunt  Em'ly 
excepting  with  their  tongues.  They  treated  her  as  if  she  were 
in  bodily  instead  of  mental  distress  ;  they  went  into  her  poor 
home  and  helped  her  with  her  work ;  they  gave  her  of  their 
stores  of  food  and  finery  ;  and,  when  Lish's  short  term  of  im- 
prisonment had  expired,  and  she  lifted  her  abashed  head  and 
"  showed  her  face  among  her  friends  "  once  more,  she  was  given 
the  seat  of  honour,  and  literally  cushioned  on  down  ;  for  Granny 
insisted  on  softening  her  hard  situation  as  much  as  might  be 
by  the  aid  of  a  pillow  stuffed  with  swansdown,  and  never  before 

79 


8o  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

used  for  any  purpose  whatsoever  save  that  of  ornamentation — 
not  even  the  children  of  "  Miss  Agnes  "  had  been  allowed  to 
press  its  sacred  plumpness  with  their  little  heads. 

"  Ise  feared  yo'  ain't  settin'  easy,"  said  Granny,  looking  at 
her  guest  with  great  complacency. 

Aunt  Em'ly,  lifted  so  high  in  the  old  wooden  rocking-chair 
that  her  feet  scarce  touched  the  floor,  and  seemingly  in  great 
fear  lest  the  mighty  and  magnificent  cushion  beneath  her 
should  explode  like  a  bomb-shell,  answered  with  emotion— 

"  Ise  mighty  comf  uble,  Aunt  Jinny,  mighty  comf'uble  ;  but 
Ise  oneasy  les'  I  spile  dis  hyeah  piller.  Hit's  er  heap  too  rich 
foh  my  blood." 

"Huh!"  exclaimed  Granny,  with  fine  scorn,  "Ise  mighty 
ole,  and  Ise  lib  er  long  time  an'  seen  er  heap  o'  pillers  in  my 
day,  but  I  got  yit  ter  see  de  one  dat's  too  good  foh  yo'  ter  set 
on,  Em'ly." 

"  Dat's  wut  I  sez." 
"  Me,  too." 
u  Me,  foh  nurr." 

"  Lan'  sakes  !  "  cried  Aunt  Em'ly,  laugh- 
ing, though  the  tears  were  running  down 
her  kind  old  face,  "  ef  mung  han's  (among 
you  all)  yo'  don't  mek  out  ter  spile  me,  I  des 
AUNT  EM'LY.         lak  ter  know  who's  ter  blame,  dat's  all." 
11 1  think  you  are  too  good  to  spoil,  Aunt  Em'ly,"  said  Tow 
Head,  adding  her  mite  with  all  seriousness. 

"  Yessir  !  yessir  !  "  cried  Granny,  beaming  on  the  child. 
"  Des  hyeah  dat !  Laws  !  Aunt  Em'ly,  dat  chile  hez  des  hone 
(yearn)  foh  yo'.  Time  'pun  time  she  corned  in  hyeah  an'  she 
say  :  '  I  wisht  Aunt  Em'ly'd  come.'  Hit  mos'  fetched  de  teah 
ter  my  eye." 

Aunt  Em'ly  cackled  in  quite  the  old-time  fashion,  and  wiped 
her  eyes  on  her  apron. 

"  Dat's  de  bes'  chile  in  de  worl',"  she  cried. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  Si 

Tow  Head  was  actually  embarrassed  by  this  most  unusual  and 
unexpected  compliment ;  but  she  was  not  the  one  to  waste  her 
opportunities  while  she  gave  her  emotions  play. 

"  Tell  me  a  story,"  she  pleaded,  instead  of  returning  thanks. 
"  Tell  me  a  rabbit  story,  Aunt  Em'ly.  Mrs.  Boogarry  and  all 
the  rest  of  them  keep  on  telling  woodpecker  stories,  and  some 
of  them  are  funny  and  some  of  them  scare  me." 

"  Dare  now  !  I  knows  un  dat  ain't  gwine  ter  scare  yo',  honey, 
'bout  Grey  Wolf  an'  Old  Woodpeckeh.  I  boun'  hit  mek  yo' 
laff.  Lemme  tell  yo'  dat." 

Tow  Head  had  confidence  in  Aunt  Em'ly,  and  at  once  agreed 
to  listen  to  anything  she  would  relate  ;  so  the  old  woman  made 
one  last  desperate  effort  to  plant  her  feet  firmly  on  the  floor, 
and  began  : — 

"  One  time,  w'en  Ole  Woodpeckeh  wuz  feelin'  dat  fat  an' 
sassy  dat  'e  t'ink  one  o'  he  tail-fedders  know  mo'  den  er  whole 
passel  ob  de  turr  buhds,  he  strut  roun'  a-huntin'  foh  some  sort 
o'  debbilmint  foh  'muse  hisse'f  wid.  He  look  hyeah  an'  he 
look  dar,  he  look  hidder  an'  he  look  yan  (yonder),  but  he  don't 
see  de  leastes'  mite  o'  fun,  kase  w'y,  dey  wuz  wunst  er  day  (they 
knew)  dat  'e  des  natch 'ly  lam  de  peelin'  offen  Ole  Jay  Buhd,  an1 
dat  skeer  de  urr  buhds  so  dat  dey  dassent  neighbeh  wid  'im  no 
mo',  dey  des  tek  up  dey  heels  an'  git  w'en  dey  see  'im  a-comin'. 
De  mo'  dat  Ole  Woodpeckeh  noduss  dat  de  mo'  biggetty  (arro- 
gant) he  bin  feel.  He  feel  lak  he  mo'  biggeh  den  Grey  Wolf  ur 
Turkic,  ur  mos'  all  dey  kinfolks.  He  des  feel  lak  (as  if)  Ole  Grey 
Wolf's  whole  hide  ain't  mo'n  big  nuff  ter  mek  'im  er  thumb- 
stall.  Dat  am  mos'  gin'ly  de  way,  honey,  w'en  folkses  'gin  ter 
'mire  deyse'fs.  De  mo'  dey  'mire,  de  mo'  dey  kin  'mire.  Hit's 
des  lak  a-larnin'  foh  ter  chaw  de  'backy.  At  the  fust,  lawsy  me  ! 
don't  yo'  feel  mighty  peart !  Den  yo'  feel  mighty  squawmish 
in  de  eenside.  Den  yo'  lay  yo'se'f  back  an'  'low  yo'  feel  mighty 
mean  an'  ain't  no  un  gwine  ter  ketch  yo'  doin'  dat  ergin.  Ner' 
day,  dough,  yo'  'low  dat  yo'  gib  hit  nurr  trial,  des  foh  ter  'vince 

7 


82  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

yo'  mine  (to  convince  your  mind).  Dat  ain't  so  bad  ez  yis- 
tiddy.  Nex'  day  hit  mo'  betteh  yit,  an'  so  hit  go  'long  twell 
yo'  a-keepin'  at  hit  study,  an'  so  de  'speunce  (experience)  go 
'long,  an'  de  taste  foh  de  'backy  am  up  an'  a-growin',  twell  at  de 
las'  yo'  ain't  satisfy  medout  um.  Yessir,  dat  de  way  !  'Backy  - 
chawin'  an'  'mirin'  yo'se'f  des  de  same.  Yo'  got  de  hand-glass 
an'  I  got  de  'backy  ;  yo'  look,  1  chaw  ;  but  hit  come  ter  des  de 
same,  an'  boun'  ter,  now  an'  ebber  an'  ebber  lastin'ly.  Dat  wuz 
sholy  an'  suttinly  de  way  wid  Ole  Woodpeckeh.  'E  cock  'e 
eye,  'e  russle  'e  fedders,  'e  hole  'e  haid  on  one  side,  'e  strut  w'en 
'e  walk,  an'  'e  flop  w'en  'e  fly.  Nemmine,  Old  Woodpeckeh  ! 
Ole  Grey  Wolf  am  a-comin'  thu  de  woods  des  a-lopin' 
(running). 

"  Ole  Grey  Wolf,  he  come  'long,  tuhnin'  he  projects  in  he 
mine,  an'  he  ain't  see  Ole  Woodpeckeh. 

"  All  on  de  suddint — him  !  Ole  Woodpeckeh  done  hit  'im 
er  clip  des  back  ob  de  yeah.  '  Well !  '  sez  Ole  Grey  Wolf,  sez 
'e,  sorter  slackin'  up,  *  de  Fall  (autumn)  hez  got  hyeah  foh  sho, 
an'  I  bin  dat  press  foh  time  dat  I  ain't  noduss  de  fack  twell  dat 
maple  leaf  russle  down  on  me  des  now.' 

"  Blam  ! — Ole  Woodpeckeh  gin  'im  nurr  clip  right  on  de  top 
o'  de  haid,  an'  honeys,  hit  wuz  er  hahd  (hard)  un  ! 

"  Ole  Grey  Wolf  don't  stop,  but  he  sorter  tuhn  he  eye  up  ter 
de  trees.  *  Hit  sholy  am  Fall,'  sez  'e,  '  kase  des  now  dat  mische- 
vyous  ole  Miss  Bushytail  bin  crack  HI  nut  an'  shy  de  shell 
onter  me.' 

"  Grashis !  dat  mek  Ole  Woodpeckeh  so  mad.  He  fetched 
er  squall,  suz,  dat  wuz  wuss'n  er  ghostes'  whustle,  an'  mek  de 
woods  ring  ergin.  Den  he  des  peck  all  ober  Grey  Wolf. 

"  Grey  Wolf  trot  'long,  he  do,  des  ez  gay  ez  de  HI  fox  in  de 
grape-season,  an'  he  'low  hit  kinder  late  in  de  yeah  foh  skeetuz 
(mosquitoes),  but  he  sholy  feel  um  nip  wunst  ur  twiste. 

"  '  Nemmine  ! '  he  say,  *  dat  wuz  er  skeeter,  but  nemmine  ' 
I  spoge  (suppose)  we  gwine  ter  git  rid  ob  um  mos'  enny  night 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  83 

now  ;  kase  w'en  de  leabes  an'  de  nuts  fall  free,  den  Ole  Jack 
Pros'  ain't  a-settin'  in  de  holler  a-smokin'  wilier-trigs,  he's 
a-packin'  up  he  traps  ter  go  a-trabblin'.  Yessir,  de  fros'  gwine 
ter  git  hyeah  soon  an'  ketch  dem  lil  skeeter-bugs  '  (mosquitoes). 

"  Oh  !  den  Ole  Woodpeckeh  feel  mean,  I  tell  yo'.  He  des 
dror  off,  he  do,  an'  he  mek  cunjerin'  rings,  he  scratch  trick- 
mahks  on  de  ground,  he  cut  signs  on  de  trees,  but  they  don't 
none  un  um  faze  (trouble)  Ole  Grey  Wolf,  mine  yo'.  He  des 
trot  erlong  thu  dem  woodses  gwine  'bout  he  bizniz  an'  bod- 
derin*  'bout  nuttin.  One  ur  two  times  he  grin  dat  long,  slow- 
comin'  grin  dat  'e  kin  grin,  an*  wunst  he  look  o'er  he  shouldeh 
an'  laff.  Dat  all.  He  ain't  mine  dem  lil  cunjerin'  gwines-on. 
He  done  fegit  (forget)  mo'  tricks  den  all  Woodpeckeh  know. 

"  At  de  las'  Ole  Woodpeckeh  wuhk  hisse'f  up  so  dat  he  plum 
crazy  a*  'stractid.  He  fling  hisse'f  down  afront  ob  Ole  Grey 
Wolf  des  a-foamin'  an'  a-bilin'. 

"  |  Kill  me  ! '  sez  'e.  '  Kill  me  !  I  setch  er  big  fool  I  don't 
want  ter  lib  no  longeh.  I  ain't  fitten  foh  nuttin  but  buzzahd- 
meat.  I  wanter  die  an'  pe'sh  offen  de  face  of  de  yeath.  I  hate 
myse'f  so  bad  dat  I  des  afiah  (a-fire)  !  ' 

"  *  Afiah,  is  yo'  ? '  sez  Ole  Grey  Wolf,  sez  'e,  a-grinnin'  an* 
des  skusely  a-lettin'  up  in  he  pace.  (  Den  I  reckon  I  got  ter 
putt  yo'  out,'  sez  'e. 

"  Wid  dat  he  up  an  spit  right  squar'  on  Ole  Woodpeckeh, 
an*  I  lay  he  wuz  put  out !  He  wuz  des  nigh  onter  drownded. 
Honey,  dat  sassy  buhd's  bones  wuz  wet  t'rough. 

"  Ole  Grey  Wolf,  he  ain't  stop  dough  ;  he  des  rack  erlong  easy 
an1  mild,  an'  at  de  tuhn  ob  de  parf  he  git  plum  out  o'  sight." 

<(  And  what  became  of  Woodpecker,  Aunt  Em'ly  ?  Did  he 
die  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  chile  !  He  ain't  ob  de  dyin'  kine.  He  snuffle  an1 
he.  sneeze  an'  he  choke  an'  he  gap,  an'  w'en  he  git  he  senses 
back  he  strike  out  foh  home.  W'en  he  git  dar  he  hide,  and 
des  ez  sho  ez  Ise  a-settin'  hyeah  er  libbin'  niggeh,  he  ain't  come 


84 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


out  o'  dat  hole  in  de  tree  foh  er  plum  week  !  Ole  Miss  Wood- 
peckeh,  she  bin'  bleeged  to  kyar  he  vittles  in  ter  'im,  ruther 
den  see  'im  styarve  hisse'f  ter  death,  kase  he  dat  cut  up  dat  he 
des  cudn't  come  out.  I  reckon  he'd  a-bin  dar  yit  ef  de  baby 
ain't  tuck  sick,  an'  dat  baby  wuz  he  fayvorz'fc,  so  he  kim  out 
ter  kyore  (cure)  hit  up." 

Big  Angy  was  incensed  at  this  belittling  of  her  hero,  and  did 
not  scruple  to  make  her  feelings  known.  In  the  language  of 
her  father,  for  there  are  no  "  swear-words  "  in  the  tongue  of 


"  OLE   MISS   WOODPECKER   SHE    BIN    'BLEEGED    TER    KYAR.   HE   VITTLES 
IN   TER    'IM." 

her  Indian  mother,  she  "  cussed  "  the  insulting  tale,  and  then 
made  haste  to  relate  one  which  should  offset  it. 

One  evening,  late,  as  a  hunter  and  his  dog  were  walking 
slowly  towarc^  home,  they  saw  before  them,  in  the  narrow 
path  that  wound  through  the  underbrush,  a  very  strange  little 
red  man.  He  seemed  to  be  very  feeble,  very  old,  very  lame. 
He  told  them,  in  faint  accents,  that  he  was  far  from  home, 
weary  almost  unto  death,  and  ready  to  perish  from  long  fasting. 

The  hunter  made  answer,  "  If  you  can  reach  my  lodge  you 
will  be  welcome  there.  I  have  plenty  of  food,  and  a  bed  of 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  85 

soft  furs  for  you,  but  it  depends  on  you  to  get  to  them.  As  you 
see,  I  have  no  horse  to  place  at  your  disposal." 

The  little  man  replied  more  cheerfully  than  he  had  before 
spoken  that  he  could  not  walk,  that  was  quite  impossible,  but, 
as  he  was  so  small,  he  thought  the  dog  could  carry  him  ; 
adding  that  he  saw  marks  on  the  dog  which  showed  he  had 
been  used  to  carrying  a  pack  strapped  on  his  back. 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  the  hunter.  "  When  me  move  our 
lodge  this  kind  and  faithful  animal  does  have  a  pack  strapped 


THE    HUNTER   AND   THE    LITTLE    RED    MAN. 

on  his  back.  Also  my  children  ride  him  as  if  he  were  a  pony, 
but  I  will  not  call  on  him  to  carry  other  burdens  unless  he  is 
willing.  It  is  one  thing  to  help  the  family  of  which  he  is  a 
part,  quite  another  to  be  burdened  by  a  stranger — that,  too, 
when  he  is  already  weary." 

Then  said  the  little  man,  "  All  that  is  true  and  reasonable,  I 
acknowledge  that  ;  but  may  I  be  allowed  to  speak  with  the  dog 
myself?" 


86 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


The  hunter  gave  permission,  so  the  little  red  man  called  the 
dog  close  to  him,  and  pleaded  very  touchingly  that  he  might 
not  be  left  to  die  alone  in  the  thicket  of  hunger  and  fatigue. 
"Take  me,"  he  begged,  piteously,  "to  the  hunter's  lodge.  I 
am  not  heavy  when  I  am  at  my  best,  and  now  I  scarce  weigh 
more  than  a  flake  of  wild  cotton." 

The  dog  was  an  uncommonly  good-natured  fellow,  so, 
although  weary  and  footsore  himself,  he  was  won  to  allowing 
the  little  old  man  to  ride  him  to  the  village. 


"  WITH    THAT   HE   WALKED   OFF   TO   THE   OTHER    DOGS,    WHO    RECEIVED 
HIM    WITH    SNIFFS   AND   YELPS   OF    DERISION." 

When  they  arrived,  the  little  man,  as  he  dismounted, 
whispered  in  the  dog's  ear,  "  You  shall  lose  nothing  by  this." 

"  Oh !  that  is  very  well,"  answered  the  dog.  "  You  are  quite 
welcome  to  my  assistance.  I  desire  no  present."  With  that 
he  walked  off  to  the  other  dogs,  who  received  him  with  sniffs 
and  yelps  of  derision. 

a  We  met  that  old  man  out  yonder,  too,"  said  they  ;  "  but 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  87 

we  were  not  fools  enough  to  become  his  servants.  Oh  !  no, 
not  we.  We  have  enough  to  do  to  serve  those  who  feed  us." 

This  mortified  the  dog,  but  he  was  not  more  mortified  than 
his  master.  The  people  of  the  village  were  all  jeering  at 
the  hunter. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  they,  "  it  was  you,  was  it,  to  whom  it  was  left 
to  bring  that  wretched  cripple  among  us  ?  We  saw  him,  but 
he  was  no  relation  of  ours,  not  even  a  friend  of  our  friends. 
With  game  growing  scarcer  all  the  time,  did  you  do  well  to 
bring  him  to  eat  your  children's  meat  ?  " 

This  made  the  hunter  feel  badly,  but  he  did  not  let  his  guest 
know  it.  He  fed  the  little  man,  he  gave  him  a  place  by  the 
fire,  he  gave  him  a  bed  of  furs. 

The  next  morning,  early,  the  little  man  awakened  his  host 
and  said — 

"  Owing  to  your  kindness  I  am  quite  well  again.  Now  I 
must  be  gone.  One  last  favour  I  ask,  will  you  and  your  dog 
walk  a  short  distance  with  me  ?  " 

To  this  the  hunter  agreed  readily.  He  was  glad  that  the 
guest  of  whom  his  friends  had  so  low  an  opinion  would  soon 
be  gone.  He  first  set  before  him  what  food  could  be  found, 
then  called  the  dog. 

When  the  little  old  man  had  eaten,  off  the  three  of  them 
went,  he  leading  at  a  pace  with  which  the  hunter  and  the  dog 
could  scarce  keep  up. 

"  Stop  !  stop  !  Grandfather,"  cried  the  hunter,  after  a  little 
while.  "  I  perceive  that  you  are  making  a  mistake.  You  are 
going  the  way  whence  we  came  yesterday.  Let  us  retrace  our 
steps,  before  we  go  farther  out  of  your  way." 

u  Come  yet  a  few  more  steps  this  way,"  said  the  little  old  man. 

So  they  went  on  again  a  long  way. 

Once  again  the  hunter  called  out — 

u  Stop  !  stop  !  Grandfather.  You  are  making  labour  for 
yourself.  The  place  where  we  found  you  is  not  far  from  here." 


88  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Come  yet  a  few  steps  more,"  urged  the  little  man. 

So  they  went  on  again  until  they  came  to  the  place  where 
they  had  met  the  evening  previous. 

"Stop!  stop!  Grandfather,"  cried  the  hunter.  "We  are 
on  the  spot  where  we  found  you  yesterday." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  little  man.  "  It  is  where  I  meant 
to  bring  you.  Now,  we  will  stop  and  talk  a  little.  You  only 
of  all  your  tribe  and  relationship  have  I  found  worthy  of  any 
friendship  or  consideration.  I  think  better  of  your  dog  than 
I  do  of  your  chief  or  doctor.  For  this  reason  I  mean  to  confer 
benefits  on  you  two  that  they  may  not  even  dream  of  gaining. 
I  will  make  of  you  whatsoever  you  choose  ;  I  will  make  of  your 
dog  whatsoever  he  may  choose  after  you  are  done.  You  two 
only  befriended  me,  you  two  only  will  I  befriend." 

So  saying,  he  shot  up  before  them  exceedingly  tall  and 
terrible.  Nevertheless,  as  they  were  not  of  the  kind  that  quails, 
they  looked  on  him  undauntedly. 

"Wish  !  "  commanded  he  who  had  been  the  little  man,  im- 
patiently. 

"  Oh,  great  chief,  make  me  the  greatest  of  hunters  !  "  cried 
the  hunter. 

"  You  shall  be  not  only  the  greatest  slayer  of  beasts,  but  also 
the  greatest  slayer  of  men,"  was  the  answer.  "  So  I  say,  so 
shall  it  be." 

Then  turned  he  who  had  been  the  little  man  to  the  dog. 

"What  do  you  choose?"  asked  he.  "Will  you  be  the 
doctor  yourself  and  turn  out  that  old  weed-eater  who  holds  the 
place  ?  " 

This  the  dog  did  not  care  for.  "  I  have  been  treated  dis- 
respectfully," said  he,  "by  the  other  animals.  Wolves  have 
taunted  me  for  carrying  burdens,  young  dogs  have  scorned 
my  slowness,  beavers  have  told  me  my  teeth  were  rotten  as 
last  year's  briers.  Make  me  strong  enough  to  be  terrible  to 
them  all." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


"  Will  you  be  a  mountain  lion  ?  "  asked  he  who  had  been 
little. 

The  dog  joyfully  answered  he  would  like  that  above  all  things. 

"Then  a  lion  you  are.  So  I  say  it,  so  shall  it  be,"  said  he 
who  had  been  the  little  red  man. 

After  this  the  man  shrank  to  the  size  he  had  been  when  the 
hunter  and  the  dog  first  saw  him.  Immediately  he  took 
affectionate  leave  of  them  and  ordered  them  to  go  home  and  wait 
patiently  for  their  heart's  desire  to  come  to  them. 

The  hunter  and  the  dog  started  home,  but  after  taking  a  few 
steps  they  looked  back. 

No  little  red  man  was  in  sight,  but  a 
great  woodpecker  rose  from  the  grass  and 
flew  away. 

"  This  is  strange.  Where  has  our  friend 
gone  ?  "  began  the  hunter  to  his  old  dog, 
but  he  did  not  finish  what  he  was  going  to 
say.  He  looked  into  the  usually  mild  and 
friendly  eyes  of  his  companion,  they  were 
changed  to  great  yellow  moons  ;  his  stature 
also  was  greatly  increased.  Awestruck,  the 
hunter  shrank  back  :  at  the  same  moment, 
with  a  fierce  and  terrible  cry,  the  mighty 
lion — dog  no  longer — bounded  into  the  thicket  and  never  again 
was  seen  by  his  former  master. 

The  hunter  made  haste  homeward  and  reached  his  lodge 
before  the  village  was  astir.  He  laid  down  and  pretended  to 
sleep  late.  When  he  finally  rose  up,  his  friends  told  him  his 
guest  was  gone,  without  leave-taking.  "  Worse  than  that," 
they  added,  "  he  has  stolen  your  dog,  the  faithful  friend 
of  your  children." 

The  hunter  heard  them  gravely,  he  said  nothing.  He 
thought  of  his  dog's  wish  and  its  fulfilment.  He  made  ready 
his  arrows,  he  tried  his  bow-cord,  he  had  prepared  for  him  a 


"  A   GREAT    WOOD- 
PECKER   ROSE    FROM 
THE    GRASS." 


90  OLD  RABBIT,   THE   VOODOO, 

quiver  of  panther  skin.  When  all  was  done,  he  started  out 
to  hunt,  but  before  he  went  he  said  to  the  people — 

11  Lend  me  many  horses.  Game  is  not  scarce  where  I  go.  I 
intend  to  load  all  the  horses  I  take  with  as  much  as  they  can 
carry." 

The  people  thought  he  was  bewitched  by  the  little  red  man, 
his  relations  were  sorrowful,  but  he  was  so  persuasive  that  he 
had  his  way  with  them.  They  went  along  with  him  and  saw 
his  wonderful  success. 

After  that,  he  always  brought  plenty  for  all  when  every  one 
else  failed. 

When  there  was  a  war  with  enemies,  he  went  to  battle  and 
all  fell  before  him.  When  the  old  chief  died  he  took  his 
place  and  ruled  many  years.  During  all  that  time  he  kept 
secret  the  cause  of  his  success,  but  when  he  was  about  to 
die  he  told  his  sons  as  a  warning  to  them  to  invite  good  fortune 
home  and  not  drive  it  to  the  lodge  of  others. 

Aunt  Em'ly,  industriously  dabbing  her  toes  against  the 
floor  in  a  vain  endeavour  to  rock  her  chair  a  little,  took  her 
mind  off  her  work  long  enough  to  say  with  fervour. 

"  Datam  deputtiest  ob  all  de  putty  tales  dat  I  donehyeah  yo? 
tell,  Miss  Boogarry.  Hit  done  tuck  all  de  shine  offen  dat  lil 
(little)  un  dat  I  muse  de  chile  wid.  I  'clar'  I  is  shame  dat  I  tole 
tale  'tall'  fo'  yo'." 

"  Huh  !  "  began  Tow  Head,  with  a  toss  of  her  chin,  but  her 
well-meant  protest  against  Aunt  Em'ly's  humility  was  never 
allowed  utterance.  Granny  knew  by  sad  and  oft-repeated  ex- 
perience the  lengths  to  which  her  young  friend's  candour  could 
be  carried  ;  she  knew,  too,  something  of  the  magnitude  of  Big 
Angy's  temper  when  roused,  therefore  she  hastened  to  get 
command  of  the  conversation  herself. 

u  Dat's  er  mighty  lubly  tale  yo'  tole;  Miss  Boogarry,  so  wuz 
de  one  yo'  told,  Aunt  Em'ly,  but,  Ian'  o'  Goshen  !  'pears  lak  de 
mo'  tale  dat  I  hyeah,  de  mo'  dat  I  hones  fong)  foh  ter  hyeah. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  91 

Ef  one  ur  turr  ob  yo'  folks  don't  whirl  in  an'  tell  nurr  tale,  I 
boun'  dat  I  don't  get  er  wink  o'  sleep  dis  night,  I'll  be  dat 
wuhkt  up  wid  a-wishin'  an'  a-honin'." 

11  Ise  run  out,"  declared  Aunt  Em'ly. 

"No  use  a-axin'  me,"  giggled  Aunt  Mary.  UI  done  tole  all  I 
knowed  in  des  no  time." 

"  'Tain't  my  tuhn  dis  ebenin',"  mumbled  Aunt  Mymee, 
looking  stubborn  and  puffing  smoke  till  Tow  Head,  sitting  on 
her  knee,  appeared  in  the  midst  of  clouds  like  a  cherub  per- 
petrated by  an  imitator  of  the  Old  Masters. 

"  I  hez  ter  putt  my  pennunce  (dependence)  in  yo'  ergin, 
Miss  Boogarry." 

When  Big  Angy  was  in  a  talkative  mood  she  enjoyed  listen- 
ing to  the  sound  of  her  own  voice  too  well  to  coyly  withhold  it. 
The  mood  was  on  her  then,  and  she  at  once  began  as  glibly  as 
if  she  were  praising  her  wares  to  a  customer,  on — 

How  THE  REDBIRD  CAME  BY  HIS  BRILLIANT  PLUMAGE. 

One  time  when  Woodpecker  was  far  from  home  and  making 
medicine,  a  plain  bird,  with  whom  he  was  very  little  acquainted, 
came  flying  to  him  in  great  haste  and  distress. 

"  Fly  home ! "  cried  the  plain  bird  in  great  excitement. 
"  Fly  home  !  "  Your  enemies  are  there  before  you  !  They 
seek  to  destroy  your  children  !  Your  wife  can  do  nothing,  her 
threats  and  entreaties  are  of  no  avail !  " 

When  Woodpecker  heard  these  words  he  did  not  even  stop 
to  thank  the  bird  who  sent  them,  faster  than  the  wind,  faster 
than  the  lightning  he  went  home. 

There  he  saw  a  sight  most  distressing.  His  wife,  wounded 
and  bleeding,  was  flying  about  the  entrance  to  their  house,  and 
by  her  desperate  efforts  just  managed  to  keep  Blue  Jay  and  his 
companion  in  wickedness,  a  great  snake,  from  going  in  to  where 
the  children  were.  This  was  an  awful  experience  for  the  poor 
mother,  for  she  had  no  magical  power,  but  it  was  nothing  to 


92  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

Old  Woodpecker  once  he  was  on  the  ground.  In  a  moment  he 
drove  away  his  enemies  with  marks  of  his  displeasure  upon 
them  which  they  would  carry  for  many  a  day. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  he  went  in  and  comforted  the 
children  and  healed  the  hurts  his  wife  had  received  from  Blue  Jay. 

This  done,  he  looked  around  for  the  plain  bird,  but  saw  him 
not,  and,  not  knowing  the  place  of  his  abode,  could  not  seek  him. 

That  was  nothing  ! 

Woodpecker  made  circles  and  sang  songs  and  spoke  incanta- 
tions, and  so  summoned  the  plain  bird  into  his  presence. 

The  plain  one  flew  directly  to  the  presence  of  Woodpecker, 
and  was  so  simple  that  he  knew  not  that  he  had  been  sum- 
moned by  magic.  When  he  arrived  he  was  confused  and 
abashed,  and  knew  not  what  to  say.  He  wished  to  go  away 
again,  but  Woodpecker  detained  him,  made  him  very  welcome, 
and  praised  him  highly. 

11  What,  benefactor  of  my  family,  do  you  wish  as  a  gift  ?  " 
Woodpecker  asked. 

Plain  Bird  said  he  wished  for  nothing. 

Woodpecker  insisted  that  he  must  receive  some  gift  of  his 
own  choosing. 

Often  Plain  Bird  refused  to  ask  for  anything. 

Often  Woodpecker  insisted  on  his  asking. 

Finally  the  plain  one  said — 

"Oh,  mighty  conjuror,  I  am  very  tired  of  this  dull-coloured 
coat  I  wear  !  The  dust  of  the  earth  is  not  less  pleasing  to  the 
eye.  I  should  like  to  have  all  over  me  fine  red  feathers  like 
those  on  your  head." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  declared  Woodpecker,  pleased 
that  he  had  compelled  a  choice  of  favours. 

Then  he  took  Plain  Bird  to  a  secret  place.  Arrived  there, 
he  scratched  his  own  wing  till  a  drop  of  blood  came. 

"  See,"  said  he  to  Plain  Bird,  "  I  shed  my  blood  for  you,  so 
strong  is  my  gratitude." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  93 

So  saying,  he  took  the  drop  and  mixed  it  with  water  and 
a  red  herb  that  was  medicine.  With  this  mixture  he  painted 
Plain  Bird.  Then  he  conducted  him  to  a  pond,  and  bade  him 
look  at  himself. 

Plain  Bird  looked  and  saw  that  he  was  a  red  bird,1  glowing, 
brilliant,  beautiful.  He  thought  of  his  grey  little  wife, 
and  most  humbly  entreated  that  Woodpecker  beautify  her 
also. 

"  Conduct  her  hither.  Something  may  be  done,"  said 
Woodpecker. 

Redbird  flew  away  and  found  his  wife  and  brought  her  to  be 
painted  with  the  blood  and  medicine  of  Woodpecker. 

Alas  !  there  was  but  little  of  that  magical  paint  left.  For 
this  reason  she  is  not  so  gay  as  her  mate,  but  still  she  has 
bright  colour  enough  to  do  very  well  and  make  her  think,  as 
often  as  she  trims  her  feathers,  of  the  grateful  heart  and  magical 
skill  of  old  Woodpecker. 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  with  delight  as  Big  Angy  con- 
cluded, and  her  elders — children  as  they  were  of  a  larger 
growth — were  moved  to  follow  her  example. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  the  little  one  with  a  long-drawn  breath, 
"  that  was  be-u-tiful !  That  was  better  than  a  rabbit  story. 
Couldn't  you  tell  another,  Mrs.  Boogarry  ?  " 

Mrs.  "  Boogarry  "  couldn't,  or,  what  amounted  to  the  same 
thing,  wouldn't.  She  nipped  her  pipe-stem  with  her  teeth 
like  a  snapping  turtle  taking  hold  of  a  stick,  and  shook  her 
head  without  speaking. 

"  I  des  now  thunk  ob  one !  "  announced  Granny,  with  the 
surprised  and  joyful  air  of  one  who  had  come  unexpectedly 
on  a  long-lost  piece  of  silver. 

"  Fetch  um  out,  Aunt  Jinny,  fetch  um  out  dis  minnit,  les* 
hit  slip  yo'  membunce  afo'  yo'  knows  hit,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly, 

1  The  red-bird  or  scarlet  tanager,  a  variety  of  the  oriole,  is  entirely  of  a 
brilliant  scarlet  colour. 


94  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

slipping  off  her  honourable  but  uneasy  perch,  and  making  her- 
self comfortable  on  a  stool. 
Granny,  nothing  loth,  told — 

How  BLACKSNAKE  MADE  TROUBLE  FOR  WOODPECKER  AND 
HIMSELF. 

"  One  time,  w'en  Ole  Woodpeckeh  went  a-santerin'  home, 
arter  sundown,  he  hyeah  de  wussest  howdy-do  (riot)  dat  eber 
wuz  in  de  worl.'  He  kine  o'  stiffen  hisse'f  up  w'en  de  soun' 
strak  'im  an'  mend  he  step. 

"  Toreckly,  he  hyeah  he  ole  'ooman  des  a-hollerin*  an'  a- 
bawlin',  an'  he  putt  in  he  bes'  licks  an'  git  home  in  des  no  time. 

"  Dar  he  see  all  de  neighbehs  'semmle  tergedder,  some  un 
um  a-scolin'  an'  a-miratin'  (admiring)  an'  a-chatterin'  an' 
a-fussin'  roun'  Miss  Woodpeckeh,  an'  some  un  um  a-dabbin' 
an'  a-swoopin'  at  er  big  brack  snake  dat  wuz  a-layin'  at  de  foot 
ob  de  tree  all  budge  out  an'  fit  ter  bust. 

"  *  Wut  de  matteh  hyeah  ?  '  ax  Ole  Woodpeckeh. 

"  Ev'body  pint  at  de  snake  an'  shake  dey  haid  mighty  sollum. 

"  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  count  de  chilluns. 

"  '  Whah  de  baby  ?  '  he  ax. 

"  Dey  shake  dey  haid  ergin  an'  pint  at  de  snake  some  mo1. 

"  Dat  'nuff  foh  Ole  Woodpeckeh.  He  ain't  stop  ter  ax  Miss 
Woodpeckeh  ter  stop  hollerin',  he  ain't  smack  de  chilluns  foh 
gittin'  in  de  way,  he  ain't  want  ter  know  ob  de  neighbehs  ef  de  cat 
got  dey  tongue,  nur  nuttin.  He  des  mek  one  grab  at  dat  snake — 
blam  !  one  eye  out  a-ready  !  Nurrgrab  ! — blam  !  turr  eye  out ! 
Den  he  cotch  um  by  de  tail  an'  hole  um  up  an'  shake  um,  an', 
bress  de  Lawd  !  dat  baby-woodpeckeh  fall  outen  he  jaw  !  " 

Here  Granny  paused,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  her  pipe, 
blew  in  the  bowl,  shut  one  eye,  and  pretended  to  be  looking 
for  obstructions  in  the  stem. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Tow  Head,  impatiently. 

"  Hole  on,  honey,  hole  on,"  said  Grarny,  placidly,  the  while 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  95 

she  hunted  for  her  pocket — a  cumbrous  affair  not  sewed  in  her 
gown,  but  dangled  between  it  and  her  petticoats,  and  kept 
from  falling  to  earth  by  two  long  strings  sewed  to  its  top  and 
passed  several  times  around  her  waist. 

"  Your  tobacco  is  not  in  your  large  pocket.  You  know  well 
enough  it  is  in  your  small  pouch  at  your  belt,"  cried  Tow 
Head,  vigorously  kicking  her  heels  against  Aunt  Mymee  in 
her  impatience. 

"  So  'tis,  honey,  so  'tis,"  said  Granny,  regarding  Aunt 
Mymee's  vicarious  punishment  with  complacency. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No,  honey,  Ise  yit  got  de  fine-cut  dat  yo'  pa  brung  me  mm 
town.  Dar  'tis,  on  de  shelf,  yondah." 

"  I  mean,  you  hateful  old  thing,  is  that  all  about  Wood- 
pecker's baby  ?  " 

"  Shuh  !  "  exclaimed  Granny,  beginning  to  puff  at  the  newly- 
filled  pipe,  "  is  dat  tork  mannehs  ter  de  ole  folks  ?  Dat  ain't 
de  way  I  wuz  larnt  w'en  I  wuz  young." 

Tow  Head  turned  to  Aunt  Mymee  in  a  fury  of  impatience, 
"  Do  you  know  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Ef  all  yo'  got  on  yo'  mine,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  looking  at 
Granny  and  speaking  with  deliberate  impressiveness,  "  am  foh 
ter  git  dis  chile  so  wuhkt  up  dat  she  kyarn't  sleep  dis  night, 
I  reck'n  I  mought  betteh  tote  huh  right  up  ter  de  House." 

"  Ez  I  wuz  a-sayin',  honey,"  said  Granny,  sweetly,  to  the 
child,  and  taking  no  notice  of  Aunt  Mymee's  remark,  "  w'en 
dat  triflin'  ole  pipe  o'  mine  quit  a-suckin' — de,  baby-woodpeckeh 
fell  outen  de  jaws  oh  Bracksnake,  but  de  po'  HI  crittur  wuz 
done  die  stone  daid.  Nemmine  !  nemmine,  dough  !  Wood- 
peckeh  mo'n  er  match  foh  dat,  an'  so  I  tells  you'.  W'en  he 
see  de  baby  wuz  shoh  nuff  daid,  he  go  an'  he  git  out  de 
medsum  (medicine,  or  magic)  pipe  an'  he  puff  an'  he  suck  an' 
he  draw  an'  he  fill  dat  lil  daid  woodpeckeh  full  ob  de  smoke. 
W'en  dat  smoke  fill  lil  woodpeckeh  he  'mence  ter  come  ter  life. 


96  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

He  stretch  he  wings  fust  an'  kick  one  laig,  den  he  flinch  he  tail 
an'  dror  up  bofe  laigs,  den  he  shet  an'  open  he  bill  an'  dror 
up  he  claws.  Arter  dat  he  gap  big  an'  sneege — a-kwisha  !  Dis 
done,  he  wuz  well,  an'  he  fly  up  ter  he  mammy. 

"Den  wuz  de  time  dat  Ole  Woodpeckeh  tuhn  he  'tention  'pun 
Bracksnake  ter  gib  'im  er  good  sottlemint  (settlement).  He 
kyarn't  kill  dat  villyun  out  an'  out,  kase  he  got  cunjerin'  sense 
in  'im  too,  but,  Ian'  o'  love  !  he  kin  fill  'im  wid  tricks  (spells), 
ez  full  ez  de  shucks  (dried  maize  leaves)  whah  de  hogs  lay  is 
full  ob  fleas.  He  scratch  that  Bracksnacke  down  de  back,  an' 
he  blow  hot  on  'im  an'  dry  'im  up  lak  er  last  yeah's  milk- 
weed, den  'e  tuhn  'im  aloose,  an'  er  fine  sight  he  wuz  ! 

"  Sence  dat  day  dat  Bracksnake  ain't  no  mo'  'count.  He 
own  folks  ain't  count  kin  wid  'im.  To  be  shoh,  he  cunjer  back 
he  eyesight,  ur  mo'  'tickler,  (or,  what  is  more)  he  knowed  de 
weed  dat  kin  do  dat,  an'  he  cunjer  de  weed  ter  cum  unter  'im 
an'  kyore  (cure)  'im,  but  he  ain't  got  de  sense  ter  cunjer  back 
he  strenk  ur  he  good  looks.  Fum  dat  day  unter  dis  he  des 
wriggle  roun'  in  de  grass,  he  don't  climb  trees  no  mo'  ur  run 
fas'  'long  de  aige  (edge)  ob  de  road  lak  de  res'  o'  he  fambly, 
an'  folkses  wen  dey  see  'im,  dey  des  poke  fun  at  'im  stiddier 
(instead  of)  gittin'  skeered.  Dey  let  on,  dey  do,  dat  dey  s'picion 
some  triflin'  gal  done  drap  'im  offen  'er  laig,  an'  des  foh  sport 
dey  calls  'im  de  gyarteh  (garter)  snake.  Oh,  yes  !  dat's  so,  po' 
lil  wizzle  (poor  little  withered  up  thing)  up  t'ing.  Ise  seen  'im, 
menny  an'  menny's  de  time,  an'  so  I  boun'  hez  all  de  res'  ob 
yo'.  'Tain't  but  des  'fo'  fros'  dat  I  brung  one  up,  a-twustin' 
ev'whichaways,  on  de  eend  o'  my  stick,  w'en  I  wuz  a-pokin'  in 
de  daid  leabes  a-searchin'  foh  warnits  (walnuts)." 

"  I  should  hate,"  said  Tow  Head,  uneasily,  "  to  get  one  of 
those  things  on  by  mistake.  I'm  always  dropping  my  garters 
and  picking  them  up  again.  I  might  pick  up  a  snake,  if  it 
looked  just  like  one.  Granny,  do  you  know  if  they  have 
buckles  on  the  ends  of  them  ?  n 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  97 

"  No,  dey  don't,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  emphatically.  "  Dar, 
now,  Aunt  Jinny,  des  look  wut  yo'  done  !  I  'low  yo'  hafter  tell 
nurr  tale  ter  git  de  tase  (taste)  ob  dis  un  outen  de  chile's  mouf." 

"  Yo'  ain't  skeered,  is  yo',  honey  ?  " 

"  N-no,"  answered  the  child,  doubtfully,  "but  maybe  I  will  be 
if  you  do  not  tell  another  story.  Sometimes  I  get  scared  after 
I  go  to  bed,  when  the  lights  are  out  and  there  seems  to  be 
such  a  lot  of  dark.  Those  times,  the  stories  you've  heard  seem 
to  be  coming  at  you  if  they  are  not  nice." 

"  Den  I  gwine  ter  tell  'bout  de  pahty  (party)  dat  Ole  Wood- 
peckeh  wuz  'tendin'  wunst  (once  attended).  De  pahty,  honey, 
whah  he  play  on  de  fiddle  up  at  Perarer-Chickin's  house. 
Mebbe  yo'  don't  keer  foh  dat  tale,  do  ugh  ?  " 

Tow  Head  did  care,  and  said  so,  to  Aunt  Mymee's  disgust, 
so  Granny  began — 

"  One  time,  Ole  Perarer-Chicken,  he  gin  er  big  pahty.  All 
de  buhds  dey  hed  er  eenvite,  clar  down  ter  Cow-buntin*  an' 
clar  up  ter  Ole  Woodpeckeh  hisse'f.  Dem  eenvites  dey  kick 
up  er  heap  er  ter-do-unce  (preparation)  mungs  de  buhds.  Dey 
pick  de  tangles  outen  dey  pin-fedders  an'  smoove  dey  quills  an' 
ile  dey  backs  an'  breas'es  twell  dey  shine  lak  er  pond  in  de  sun. 
Wen  dey  git  primp  ter  dey  mine,  dey  sot  out,  Ole  Woodpeckeh 
lil  arter  de  res'.  Time  wuz  w'en  'e  wouldn't  a-gone  er  step  in 
dat  'rection,  but  dat  wuz  'fo'  Ole  Perarer-Chicken  gun  'im 
warnin'  dat  Ole  Miss  Owl,  she  'low  she  like  mighty  well  ter 
hab  er  mess  ob  young  woodpeckehs  in  'er  pot-pie  on  de  table 
w'en  she  git  up  de  suppeh  foh  de  weddin'  ob  'er  oldes'  gal. 
Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  wuz  much  erbleeged  foh  dat  piece  o' 
news,  an'  he  keep  one  eye  out  twell  arter  de  weddin'.  He 
ain't  ne'er  fegit  dat  good  tuhn  (turn),  an'  mm  dat  day  fo'th 
he  pass  de  time  o'  day  an'  ax,  (  How  am  yo'  good  healt', 
neighbeh  ?  '  w'en  dey  meet. 

"  Ez  I  wuz  a-ree-mockin'  (remarking),  he  went  ter  de  pahty. 
Hit  bin  hilt  out  in  one  o'  dem  lil  open  place  mungs  de  woods, 

8 


98  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

an*  wuz  all  green  wid  grass,  an'  de  grass  speckled  up  wid 
berbenyums  (verbenas)  an'  sweet-willyums,  an'  de  likes,  an'  de 
place  wuz  sorter  fence-in  wid  wild-rose  bushes  an'  de  hazel-bresh 
dat  sorter  hug  up  ergin  de  plum  trees  an'  saplin's.  Hit  wuz  er 
mighty  fav'able  spot,  honey,  an'  sides  de  res'  dey  wuz  er  lil  cl'ar 
runnin'  crik  ganderin'  'crost  one  cornder. 

"  So,  den  !  Dey  all  got  dar,  an'  dey  wuz  turr'ble  p'lite  ter 
un  nurr  an'  complymint  dey  looks,  an'  ax  arter  de  chilluns. 

"  Arter  w'iles,  w'en  dey  done  nibble  de  grass  seeds  an'  gobble 
de  groun'-churries  an'  snap  up  de  bugs  an'  hoppehgrasses  an' 
bo'  (bore)  down  in  de  groun'  an'  git  er  wuhm  ur  two,  an'  grab 
'bout  fibe  ur  six  minnuz  (minnows)  out  en  de  crik,  'corjin'  ez 
dey  tas-tes  calls  foh,  dey  all  whirl  in  an  ax  Ole  Perarer-Chicken 
fob  ter  darnce  dat  darnce  ob  hissen  dat  dey  hyeah  (heard)  tell 
on  so  much. 

"  Now,  dat  darnce  wuz  er  sorter  er  cunjerin'  darnce,  an'  e'en 
Ole  Woodpeckeh  des  natchelly  hone  (longed)  foh  ter  see  'im 
darnce  hit. 

"  Perarer-Chicken,  he  ain't  nowise  sot  on  showin'  off  dat 
darnce. 

u  *  I  ain't  got  no  moosic,'  sez  'e,  '  an',  in  co'se,  I  kyarn't  mek 
out  medout  none.  W'en  I  wuz  young,'  sez  'e,  '  an'  not  so  fat 
an'  pussy '  (pursy,  plump),  sez  'e, '  I  c'd  sing  me  a  little  chune  ter 
darnce  by  des  ez  I  went  erlong,  but  I  kyarn't  do  dat  no  mo',' 
sez  'e,  a-shakin'  he  haid  an'  a-lookin'  sollum.  '  Ise  gittin'  ole 
an'  tizzicky,  now.  Ise  'bleege  ter  'noledge  dat.' 

"  *  I  kin  play  yo'  er  chune  dat  I  'low  yo'  kin  mek  out  by,'  sez 
Ole  Woodpeckeh,  speakin'  up  mighty  quick  an'  smilin'.  *  In 
co'se,  I  ain't  no  great  shakes,'  sez  'e,  ( but  I  kin  mek  out  ter 
pick  er  chune  an'  I'll  do  hit,  rudder'n  see  all  dese  hyeah  frens 
go  home  dis'pinted,'  sez  'e.  *  I'm  got  bofe  er  fiddle  an'  er 
whustle,'  sez  'e. 

"  *  Le's  hab  de  whustle  ! '  sez  de  comp'ny,  speakin'  up  mighty 
f'erce. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  99 

"  (  Yo's  mighty  kine  ter  gib  ch'ice,'  sez  Perarer-Chicken. 
'Ise  sho'  I  kyarn't  darnce  ter  no  whustle.' 

"  De  facks  o'  de  marter  am,  he  don't  wanter  darnce  'tall, 
but  he  don'  lak  ter  'fuse  at  he  own  pahty.  'Sidesen  dat, 
he  know  dat  whustle  am  dangersome. 

"  (  De  fiddle  gits  hit,'  sez  de  ladies  an'  gentermens. 
u  '  Ef  I  mus',  I  mus',  I  reckon,'  sez  Perarer-Chicken,  (  but  ez 
yo'  'gree,  le's  hab  de  fiddle.     De  fiddle  sorter  he'ps  out,  but  de 
whustle  am  diffunt' 

"  De  Lawd  know,  he  don't  wanter  darnce  ter  dat  whustle, 
kase  hit  wuss  des  er  full-size  witch  foh  dobbilmmt.  Hit  bin 
mek  outen  de  big  eagle  wing-bone  an'  hit  des  fit  ter  bust  wid 
cunjurin'.  Wen  Ole  Woodpeckeh  blow  on  hit,  he  blow  all 
manneh  ob  chahms  right  inter  de  noggins  (heads)  an'  bones  ob' 
de  ones  dat  hyeah  'im  blow. 

"  So  dey  all  know  an'  dey  'gree  on  de  fiddle,  an'  dey  tork  back 
an'  fo'th  twell  dey  all  out  o'  bref,  an'  den  dey  sen'  Redbuhd 
arter  de  fiddle." 

"  I  never  saw  a  redbird  that  could  carry  a  fiddle,  Granny." 
"  Ef  yo'  keep  yo'  eye  on  um,  honey,  de  charnces  am  dat  yo' 
will  see  hit,  kase  dis  hyeah  fiddle  ain't  no  biggeh'n  de  eend  j'int 
ob  de  ole  cat's  tail.  Hit  wuz,"  said  Granny,  evidently  drawing 
on  her  imagination  for  the  child's  amusement,  "  mek  outen  de 
Hies'  gode  (gourd)  dat  e'er  growed  on  de  vines.  One  side  wuz 
hack  off  an'  strung  'cross  wid  de  innards  ob  er  buffler-cricket 
(buffalo-cricket)  foh  fiddle-strings,  an'  ha'r  offen  er  flutterbug 
(butterfly)  foh  bowstrings,  w'ich  de  same  bow  wuz  er  fishbone. 

"  Well  den  ! — Quail,  Ole  Perarer-Chicken's  grandarter, 
whustle  de  chune  dat  he  wanter  darnce  by  ez  well  ez  she  km 
twell  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  cotch  um.  Den — cr-r-r-eek, 
s-s-s-quee-ee-k  !  squeak  !  he  draw  de  bow  'crost  de  strings  an' 
den  de  chune,  hit  come  des  a-trabblin',  an'  Ole  Perarer- 
Chicken,  he  darnce  an'  he  darnce,  twell  he  laigs  mos'  fit  ter 
drap  off,  an'  dey  all  mek  de  gret  miration  an'  gigglin'  an'  dey 


100 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


DE   BUHDS. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  101 

all  mought  a-bin  dar  yit  a-joyin'  deyse'fs  ef  dey  hain't  come  er 
crickle-crackle  in  de  bresh,  an'  den  w'en  dey  tuhn  foh  ter  look 
— ping  ! — an'  dat  wuz  de  fust  shot  de  w'ite  man  fiah  off  in  dis 
paht  ob  de  kyentry. 

"  De  buhds,  dey  all  cut  out  foh  home,  liketty-switch  (rapidly), 
m'dout  a-sayin'  *  good  ebenin','  ur  how  dey  bin  'joy  deyse'fs,  ur 
nuttin,  an'  hit  tuck  urn  long  time  ter  fine  out  dat  de  ruction 
wuzzent  some  ob  Ole  Woodpeckeh's  cunjerin'  tricks.  Lan'  o' 
Gosha'  !  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  run  wid  de  bes',  wid  he  fiddle 
un'neat'  he  wing. 

"  De  bow,"  continued  Granny,  after  a  pause  which  seemed 
interminable  to  her  listeners,  "  he  drapped  in  de  bresh  some'ers. 

"  Arter  dat,  dat  same  ole  gun  wuhkt  er  heap  o'  mischief,  an' 
arter  w'iles,  Ole  Woodpeckeh  he  stop  gittin'  de  credick  ob  hit. 
All  de  same  dough,  dey  ain't  bin  sech  er  mighty  menny  wood- 
peckehs  kilt.  W'en  dey  wuz,  two  free  w'ite  man  gotter  pay 
foh  hit.  Ef  foolin'  am  did  wid  er  woodpeckeh,  de  one  dat  do 
hit  am  de  one  dat  got  de  bill  ter  pay,  an',  genterfolk,  cunjerers* 
bills  am  long  ones." 

"  So  dey  be,"  said  Big  Angy,  with  unction,  "an*  dat  mek  I 
t'ink  'bout  nurr  tale." 

"  Ef  yo'  please,  Miss  Boogarry,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  "  let  dat 
tale  keep  de  w'iles  yo'  'fresh  yo'se'f  wid  Aunt  Jinny's  pop-cawn 
an'  honey.  I  boun'  ter  kyar  dis  chile  ter  baid,  else  OleMistis, 
she'll  git  arter  me. — Oh,  yes,  honey !  Come  'long  putty,  now" 
— this  to  her  reluctant  charge — "  an'  I'll  singyo'  er  woodpeckeh 
song." 

The  little  girl  went  along  "  putty,"  and,  as  a  reward,  heard 
this  touching  ballad — 

"  Woodpeckeh  tappin'  on  de  maple  bahk. 
Miss  Wuhm  hyeah  'im. — Hahk  !  oh,  hahk! 
Miss  Wuhm  quiled  (coiled)  on  de  parlour  flo', 
Woodpeckeh  bustin'  thu  de  entry  do'  ! 
Good-bye,  Miss  Wuhm,  yo'  boun'  ter  git  er  fall! 
Woodpeckeh  swallered  huh,  petticuts  an'  all !  " 


VIII. 


HOW  WOODPECKER  TOOK  A  BOY  TO  RAISE  AND 
WAS  DISGUSTED  WITH  THE  JOB.  ALSO,  HOW 
HE  SET  OUT  TO  CHARM  GRANDFATHER  RATTLE- 
SNAKE, TOGETHER  WITH  A  HISTORY  OF  HIS 
NECKLACE  OF  BEARS'  CLA  WrS,  AND  AN  ACCOUNT 
OF  HIS  A 1  TEMPT  TO  DESTRO  Y  RABBITS  CUNJER- 
BAG. 

IG  ANGY  had  been  telling  another  story  of 
Woodpecker  and  boasting  of  his  power , 
"des  ez  ef  he  wuz  huh  own  kinfolks,"  as 
Aunt  Mary  privately  commented. 

Once,  she  told  the  company,  a  band  of 
people  were  fleeing  from  their  enemies  and, 
as  they  went  along  in  great  haste,  they 
dropped  a  baby-boy  and  passed  on,  not  per- 
ceiving their  loss. 
OLE  RABBIT.  Woodpecker  heard  the  little  fellow  cry 

and,  not  wishing  to  see  him  killed  by  the  enemies  of  his  people 
or  eaten  by  wolves  or  panthers,  he  carried  him  home  and 
brought  him  up  among  his  own  children.  He  taught  the  boy 
many  things  and  treated  him  so  well  that  it  was  a  wonder  that 
he  was  not  perfectly  happy,  but  this  he  was  not.  When  he  found 
that  he  was  different  from  the  children  of  Woodpecker,  nothing 
would  satisfy  him  but  knowing  who  he  was  and  how  he  came 
to  be  where  he  was.  After  listening  to  many  entreaties,  Wood- 
pecker told  him  all  there  was  to  tell,  adding — 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO.  103 

"  Be  content  here.  I  have  made  a  son  of  you.  Day  by  day, 
as  you  can  understand,  I  will  teach  you  my  wisdom.  Seek  not 
your  own  people,  as  you  evidently  wish  to  do  ;  they  are  not  a 
brave  people — no  mighty  warriors  are  amongst  them — they  are 
not  a  wise  people — their  counsellors  count  for  nothing  and  their 
sorcerers  are  as  little  children  before  me.  They  are  poor,  they 
are  miserable,  they  are  despised  by  their  acquaintances.  Seek 
them  not." 

This  was  good  advice,  but  the  boy,  now  grown  to  be  a  tall 
youth,  would  not  heed  it  ;  he  was  determined  to  go  to  his  own 
kind. 


"  WOODPECKER    TOOK    A    BOY   TO    RAISE   AND   WAS    DISGUSTED   WITH 
THE  JOB." 

"  Then  go  back  to  them  as  you  came  from  them  !  "  cried 
Woodpecker,  in  a  rage. 

Immediately  the  young  man  shrank  to  the  size  of  a  baby  and 
never  grew  any  larger,  as  can  be  proved,  for,  after  Woodpecker 
drove  him  off,  he  wandered  all  over  the  earth,  telling  of  his 
misfortunes  and  asking  vainly  for  tidings  of  his  people. 

Aunt  Mymee  was  tired  of  Woodpecker,  and  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  "  settle  dat  braggin',"  so,  with  a  suavity  of  manner 
somewhat  at  variance  with  the  malice  twinkling  in  her  eye,  she 
said — 


104  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Hit's  des  pop  inter  my  'membunce  dat  in  de  time  pass  by, 
Ise  hyurn  (heard)  er  couple  ob  tales  'bout  Ole  Woodpeckeh  my 
own  se'f." 

"  Le's  hab  um,"  said  her  friends,  quailing,  they  knew  not  why. 

"  De  fust  am  'bout  Ole  Woodpeckeh  an'  how  he  got  he  come- 
uppunce x  wid  Ole  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake.  In  de  ole  times, 
yo'  mine,  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  suttinly  hed  mo'n  he  fa'r  shear 
ob  truck  an'  luck,  but,  suz !  foh  all  dat  he  ain't  out  an'  out  sati'fy 
wid  de  gwines-on  in  de  worl'.  Ef  yo'  tek  er  long  walk,  Gord 
know  dat  er  chunk  o'  grabble  boun'  ter  wuhk  hit  way  eenside 
de  fines'  shoe,  an'  dat  de  way  Ole  Woodpeckeh  foun'  hit. 
Thesso  !  thesso  !  (That's  so)  an'  de  one  blisteh  dat  de  grabble 
raise  mek  de  feelin's  ob  de  man  dat  got  shoes  wuss  den  de 
feelin's  ob  de  one  dat  'bleege  to  go  bar'foot.  De  blisteh  on  Ole 
Woodpeckeh  heel  wuz  de  'membunce  ob  Ole  Gran'daddy 
Rattlesnake  an'  de  big  name  Ole  Gran'daddy  got.  All  on  de 
suddint  he  mek  up  he  mine  dat  'e  gwine  ter  cunjer  Ole 
Gran'daddy  an'  den,  w'en  he  got  'im  down  unner  foot,  he 
gwine  ter  pull  out  he  haht  (heart)  an'  gin  it  ter  he  cousin  ter 
kyore  up  (cure  up)  er  bad  cough  she  got." 

"He  don't  hatter  hab  Ole  Gran'dad  foh  dat,"  interrupted 
Granny.  "  Enny  rattlesnake  haht'll  kyore  up  (heart  will  cure) 
de  breas'-kimplaint  (consumption)  ef  yo'  t'ar  hit  outen  de  body 
an'  swaller  hit  down,  p'int  fust,  w'iles  de  life  am  yit  in  hit." 

"  Dat  fack  I  ain'  'sputin',"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  with  a  frown, 
"  but  'tain't  hyeah  nurr  dar  in  dis  case.  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he 
hone  arter  gittin'  de  haht  ob  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake  an'  he 
ain't  gwine  ter  putt  up  wid  nuttin  else,  ef  he  kin  he'p  hisse'f. 
Dat  am,"  she  corrected  herself,  "  nuttin  in  de  shapes  ob  er 
haht,  dough,  truf  ter  tell,  he  honed  arter  de  rattles  on  Gran'- 
daddy tail  de  mos'es." 

1  Equalled  or  come  up  to.  The  formation  of  verbal  nouns  in  this  very 
peculiar  negro  dialect  distinctly  indicates  the  Red  Indian  agglutinate 
combinations. — C.  G.  L. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  105 

<(  I  reck'n,  den,  he  mus'  a-bin  pester  wid  misery  in  de  haid 
(headache),"  said  Aunt  Mary,  in  a  tone  of  sympathy.  "Ef  yo' 
w'ar  de  rattles  ob  er  rattlesnake  in  yo'  ha'r,  yo'  ain't  ne'er 
gwine  ter  hab  dat  misery." 

"  Er  cabbage-leaf  is  mos'  ez  good,"  amended  Aunt  Em'ly. 

"No,  'tain't,"  maintained  Aunt  Mary,  stoutly.  "  Lak-all- 
wise,  de  skin  ob  er  rattlesnake  wo'  round  de  wais'  keep  off  de 
rheumatiz  an'  mek  yo'  swif '  in  de  foot." 

"  I  kyarn't  set  hyeah  twell  mawnin' "  (morning),  grumbled 
Aunt  Mymee.  "  Leggo  holts  (Let  go  hold)  an'  lemme  tell  my 
tale  ter  Miss  Boogarry.  Arter  dat,  yo'  kin  brag  on  rattlesnake 
grease  an'  hide  foh  rheumatiz  twell  yo'  tongues  is  all  wo'  ter 
frazzles,1  ef  yo'  am  a  mine  ter. — Miss  Boogarry,  ez  I  wuz  a-sayin', 
de  rattles  wuz  de  mainest  p'int,  kase  evvy  rattle  stan'  foh  er 
in'my  (an  enemy)  dat  Gran'dad  kilt,  an'  dey  wuz  sech  er  lot  ob 
um  dat  yo'  kyarn't  skusely  count  iim.  Dat  Ole  Gran'daddy 
chilluns,  dey  feel  stuck-up  an'  'bove  de  neighbehs  ef  dey  hab 
six  ur  seben  rattles,  but  dat  much  ain't  count  in  de  crowd  on 
Ole  Rattlesnake  tail.  Ef  Ole  Woodpeckeh  c'd  git  dem  dey'd 
count  ez  ef  dey  wuz  he  in'my  (his  enemy)  made  off  wid. 

"  T'inkin'  'bout  all  dis  pester  'im  mighty  much,  so  dat  'e 
don't  git  no  good  res',  an',  ez  de  cool  wedder  corned  on  an'  de 
fros'  'gun  ter  nip,  he  git  de  noshin  dat  'e  gittin'  stiff  in  de  j'ints 
an'  dat  'e  des  'bleeged  ter  hab  Old  Gran'dad  fat  foh  ter  soople 
um.  Sidesen  dat,  he  need  de  skin  ter  mek  er  queeveh  (quiver), 
kase  de  arrers  kep'  in  dat  queeveh  fly  furder  an'  kill  quickeh 
den  urr  arrers.  Oh  !  he  des  gotter  hab  (must  have)  dat  sly  an' 
dry  ole  snake.  'Pun  dis  'count  'e  don't  eat  nuttin,  an'  'e  go  'way 
'lone  an'  t'ink  heap  an'  smoke  yarb  an'  drink  bitteh  watteh.2 

"  Dat  all  done,  'e  set  out. 

"  He  go  lil  way,  den  Ole  Owl  come  flyin'  low  an'  ( hoo  !  hoo  !  * 

"  *  G'long  back,'  say  Owl,  '  w'iles  yo'  kin.' 

1  Frazzles.     Frayed  bits,  distorted  pieces.     Cf.  German  Fratze. 

2  An  Indian  penance  or  preparation  for  exertion  of  magical  power. 


106  OLD  RABBIT,   THE   VOODOO, 

"  Woodpeckeh  say,  ( 'Sense  me  dis  time.  Tuhnin'  back  am 
bad  luck.' 

"  Owl  flewed  on  an'  he  say,  '  boo  !  hoo  ! '  dis  time. 

"Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  tek  er  big  medsum-pipe  an'  'e  git 
some  de  ashes  out  o'  hit  afront  ob  'im.  '  Dar  now  ! '  sez  'e, 
'dat  mek  all  safe.' 

"  Den  'e  go  on. 

"  Bimeby,  lil  rabbit  cut  'cross  de  road.  He  don't  look  todes 
Woodpeckeh  'tall,  but,  all  de  same,  he  holler,  '  Go  back  !  ' 

"  Woodpeckeh  git  down  in  de  road  an'  scratch  crossways  ob 
de  rabbit-track  an'  spit  in  um,  den  'e  go  on  wunst  mo'. 

"  Arter  w'iles,  er  brack  wolf  jump  outen  de  bresh  an'  howl 
lak  'e  wuz  a-howlin'  foh  de  daid  (dead). 

"  Dat  mek  Ole  Woodpeckeh  sweat.  Den  sholy  he'd 
a-gorned  back  ef  'twuzzent  too  late,  but  he  wuz  right  inter  de 
Rattlesnake  Kyentry. 

u  Dar  in  de  sottlemint  he  see  heap  ob  Ole  Gran'daddy 
Rattlesnake  folks  dozin'  afo'  dey  front  do's.  Heap  un  um,  too, 
he  see  des  lettin'  on  dey  dozin'  w'iles  dey  wuz  r'aly  projeckin' 
cu'i's  (curious)  t'ings.  He  go  on  a-parst  dem,  Ole  Woodpeckeh 
did,  an'  kep'  on  a-gwine,  twell  'e  git  ter  er  high  place  'twixt  de 
fawks  (forks)  ob  er  crick.  On  dat  high  place  wuz  er  oak  tree, 
de  onlest  tree  dat  grow  up  dar,  urr  enny  urr  t'ing  too,  kase 
e'en  de  grass  an'  weeds  wuz  all  daid  an'  bio  wed  erway.  Up 
dar,  at  de  foot  ob  dat  tree,  wuz  whah  Ole  Gran'daddy  lib. 

"  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  blowed  in  he  whustle,  de  chahm 
whustle  mek  outen  eagle-bone,  an'  dat  he  do  soster  (so  as  to) 
let  Ole  Gran'daddy  know  he  a-comin'.  Den  he  go  sucklin' 
(circling)  roun'  dat  tree,  mekin'  cunjer-lines  dat  kin  tie  down 
ghostes  an'  choke  debbils. 

"  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake,  he  was  stretch  out  on  de  groun', 
a-sunnin'  hisse'f,  an'  he  ain't  go  ter  de  bodderashun  ter  quile 
(coil)  hisse'f,  e'en  w'en  he  hyeah  dem  awful  gwines-on.  He 
stretch  hisse'f  lil  mo'  an'  gap  wid  he  mouf. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  107 

"  Seein'  dat,  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  shoot  at  Ole  Gran'daddy. 
He  shoot  tree  arrers  des  ez  fas'  ez  he  kin  pull  de  bow-string,  an' 
dem  arrers  dey  wuzzent  des  common  arrers  ne'er  ;  dey  wuz 
chahm,  dem  arrers  wuz. 

u  De  fust  two  Ole  Gran'dad  ketch  on  dem  two  big  toofses  o' 
hissen  dat  stick  up  des  lak  two  sickles  in  de  mouf. 

"  Dem  arrers,  dey  des  fall  into  sawdust. 

"  De  turr  one — oh,  my  !  dat  wuz  de  one  dat  wukht  de  sorrer. 
Ole  Gran'daddy  swaller  um  an'  den  spit  um  up  ergin  so  f'erce 
dat  hit  flewed  into  Ole  Woodpeckeh 's  eyes,  an'  putt  um  ri' 
spang  out ! 

"  Oh,  den  wuzzent  Ole  Woodpeckeh  in  er  mighty  bad  fix  ! 

"  Ole  Gran'daddy,  he  r'ar  up  he  haid  an'  he  holler  out — 

" '  Now,  Ole  Imp'ence,  I  gwine  ter  swaller  yo'  !  Whooh  ! 
Yo'  gwine  ter  be  medsum  (medicine  ;  z>.,  a  charm)  foh  er  long 
w'iles  an'  yo'  gwine  ter  fetch  me  nurr  rattle,  too.' 

"  Hit  'u'd  all  a-tuhned  out  dataway,  too,  ef  Ole  Woodpeckeh 
ole  'ooman,  wut  wuz  a-skulkin'  arter  him  all  de  time,  ain'  whirl 
in  an'  hit  Ole  Gran'daddy  sech  er  lick  dat  hit  mek'  er  dent  in 
'e  haid  dat  am  dar  ter  dis  day,  an'  all  de  chilluns  dat  he  hab 
sence  dat  tuck  arter  'im  too,  an'  dey  got  dat  se'f  same  dent,  ez 
I  done  see  myse'f  an'  yo'  done  see  yo'se'f." 

"  Troof,  too  !  I  done  see  um,  heaps  o'  times,"  commented 
Aunt  Em'ly. 

"  Dat  clip  sorter  stunded  (stunned)  Ole  Gran'daddy,  an'  dat 
gun  Miss  Woodpeckeh  de  chance  ter  git  Jer  ole  man  off  outen 
dat  kyentry  an'  home  wunst  mo'. 

"  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he,"  continued  Aunt  Mymee,  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand  to  impose  silence  on  Big  Angy,  who  showed 
a  disposition  to  interrupt,  u  soon  kyored  up  dem  bline  eyes,  an' 
see,  des  ez  good  ez  (as  well  as)  e'er  he  done  ;  'twuzzen't  much  ob 
er  job,  ne'er,  kase  Miss  Woodpeckeh,  she  done  busted  de  chahm 
dat  Ole  Gran'daddy  wuz  a-makin'  w'en  she  flewed  in  'twix'  um 
an'  hit  Ole  Gran'daddy  dat  smack.  So,  all  tuhn  out  berry  well ; 


io8  OLD  RABBIT,  THE   VOODOO, 

but  foh  all  dat,  I  lay  yo'  could  trabble  cl'ar  'crost  de  Rattlesnake 
Kyentry  an'  ne'er  ketch  Ole  Woodpeckeh  nur  none  ob  he  chil- 
luns  ur  kinfolks  in  dar.  No,  suz  !  Ole  Woodpeckeh  ain't  yit 
fegit  de  way  dem  ole  bline  eyes  hurted.  Mo'n  dat,  ef  Ole 
Woodpeckeh  hisse'f,  ur  enny  ob  de  folks,  ketch  sight  ob  er 
rattlesnake,  dey  des  holler  an'  screech  an'  cry  an'  skim  round." 

Aunt  Mymee  ceased  her  recital,  and  applied  herself  very 
seriously  to  the  removal  of  some  obstruction  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  her  tympanum,  employing  for  that  purpose  a  cotton- 
wood  splinter  and  a  succession  of  winks  and  grimaces  that 
lifted  every  facial  muscle  out  of  its  lawful  position. 

Big  Angy  muttered  something  that  sounded  suspiciously  like 
"  big  lie  "  ;  but  Aunt  Mymee  was  a  witcher- woman,  and  not  to 
be  openly  denounced. 

The  others  laughed  and  applauded  with  well-feigned  enthu- 
siasm ;  but  they  were  between  two  fires,  and  anxious  to  retire 
to  safer  ground.  Aunt  Em'ly  rushed  to  the  rescue  of  her 
friends  with  great  gallantry. 

"  Dat  sorter  'minds  me,  I  des  dunno  des  how,"  she  said,  "  ob 
de  tale  'bout  how  Ole  Woodpeckeh  git  dat  putty  necklash  ob 
b'ar-claws  ;  but,  arter  Aunt  Mymee  a-holdin'  forth  so  fine,  I 
mos'  'feard  ter  tell  hit." 

"  Go  'long,  Aunt  Em'ly,  go  'long,"  said  Granny,  encourag- 
ingly ;  "  we  kyarn't  hab  too  much  ob  er  good  t'ing.  De  mo'  I 
hyeah  ob  dem  good  ole  tales,  de  mo'  dat  I  wanter  hyeah,  an'  I 
boun'  dat  de  res'  ob  de  ladies  feels  des  de  same  prezack  way." 

"  Dat  my  feelin's  !  "  cried  Aunt  Mary,  giggling  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  amusement  her  friend  was  sure  to  furnish. 

Big  Angy  nodded.  Aunt  Mymee  removed  the  splinter  from 
her  ear,  and  seemed  to  nod  slightly. 

"  In  de  good  ole  times,  w'en  all  de  folks  an'  beasteses  use  ter 
scuffle  foh  er  libbin'  des  'bout  de  same,  de  beasteses,  dey  wuz 
a-merryin'  (marrying),  right  an'  lef ,  all  de  time,  des  ez  dey 
tuck  er  shine  (took  a  fancy),  medout  a-stickin'  ter  dey  own 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  109 

kine,  ez  dey  does  dese  days.  Dey  merry,  merry,  merry,  de 
wolf  an'  de  deer,  de  squir'l  an'  de  fox,  de  b'ar  an'  de  folks,  de 
niggeh  an'  de  'possum — dar  now  !  hit  'pear  lak  de  niggeh  an' 
de  'possum,  dey  dataway  yit  'bout  jinedin'  (joining)  ;  but 
hit  diffunt  in  de  respex  dat  one  git  chawed  up  dese  days. 
Oh,  yes  !  in  de  good  time  dey  all  mix  up  lak  de  mo'nehs 
(mourners)  at  de  camp-meetin'.  In  dem  times,  w'en  hit  been 
dishaway,  Ole  B'ar,  he  bin  a-foolin'  round  in  de  aige  ob  de 
sottlemmt,  one  day,  a-lookin'  foh  sumpin  he  could  steal  for 
dinneh,  w'en  he  seed  de  putties'  gal  dat  he  done  clap  he  eye 
on  sence  he  wuz  bawn.  De  minnit  he  see  dat  gal,  he  lub  'er 
lak  er  house  a-fiah  ;  he  lub  'er  mo'  hahd  den  'er  hoss  kin  kick  ; 
he  lub  'er  hahd  ez  he  own  se'f  kin  squeege.  Wen  he  see  'er, 
he  grin  at  'er  an'  say,  *  Come  hyeah,  putty  lil  gal,  kase  I  lub 
yo'  ; '  but  dat  des  mek  de  gal  run  an'  holler,  kase  de  minnit  he 
grin,  dat  minnit  he  show  dem  big  w'ite  tushes  ob  hissen,  dat 
look  lak  dey  des  made  ter  chaw  up  'er  whole  fambly  ter  wunst, 
let  'lone  one  lil  gal  lak  dat. 

"  She  holler  an'  she  holler  twell  huh  daddy  run  out  an*  look, 
an'  den  run  back  foh  he  gun. 

"  Den  Misteh  B'ar,  he  cl'ar  out,  lak  de  man  wid  de  yaller 
jacket  (a  small  wasp)  up  he  britches-laig,  dat  hatter  spressify 
ter  de  gals  dat  he  done  fegit  sumpin  in  he  turr  coat-pottit  dat 
he  'bleeged  ter  hab,  an'  he  mighty  sorry,  but  he  kyarn't  wait 
twell  dinneh's  on  de  table. 

"  Nex'  day,  dough,  he  come  a-hangin'  roun'  ergin,  an'  he 
put  he  paw  on  he  breas',  an'  he  grin,  an'  he  wall  up  he  eye  des 
lak  he  plum  sick  ter  show  des  how  big  er  ijit  (idiot)  he  wuz. 

"  Dat  don't  he'p  marters  none.  Lil  gal  holler.  Daddy 
come  out  wid  er  gun.  B'ar  skaddle  off  ter  de  woods. 

"  Den  de  nex'  day,  de  same  t'ing  all  obeh. 

"  Day  arter  dat,  same  ;  an'  so  dat  kip  up  foh  er  week. 

"  By  dat  time  de  ole  daddy  wuz  des  plum  'stractid,  kase  he 
feared  Ole  B'ar  a-layin'  off  ter  eat  dat  lil  gal. 


I  io  OLD  RABBIT,  THE   VOODOO, 

"  Ole  B'ar,  he  git  desput,  an'  try  er  'splain,  but  de  gal  an'  'er 
daddy  dat  skeered  dat  dey  won't  lissen. 

"  Ole  B'ar,  he  wait  an'  he  hone,  an'  he  git  de  simples  so 
mighty  bad  dat  he  ain't  got  no  peace  ob  he  life.  He  des  sick 
foh  dat  lil  gal ;  so  one  day  he  fling  hisse'f  down  at  de  foot  ob  er 
big  tree,  an'  he  t'ink  and  he  t'ink  'bout  dat  lil  gal  twell  de  big 
teah  come  in  he  eye,  an'  he  sniffle  and  snuff  des  lak  er  lil  boy 
arter  er  lickin'. 

"  Now,  dat  tree  wut  he  undeh  bin  be  tree  whah  Ole  Wood- 
peckeh  got  he  house  ;  so  w'en  Ole  B'ar  sot  dar  sniffin'  an' 
suckin'  he  paw,  'twuzzent  long  twell  one  ob  be  chilluns  spy 
'im.  Co'se,  arter  dey  peek  at  'im  wunst  ur  twicet,  dey  gotter 
run  tell  dey  daddy  an'  manny  dat  dey  'spect  dey  gwine  ter  hab 
comp'ny  foh  supper,  kase  dey  see  Misteh  B'ar  at  de  foot  de  tree, 
an'  dey  reck'n  he  gwine  ter  clamber  up  soon  ez  he  fetch  he  bref. 

"W'en  Ole  Woodpeckeh  hyeah  dat  news  fum  de  chilluns 
he  mighty  sot  up.  He  ain't  'spectin'  Ole  B'ar  gwine  ter  clamber 
up  dat  high,  but  he  'low  he  gwine  ter  mek  mo'n  er  emp'y 
money-puss  outen  dat  bizniz.  Dis  long  time  he  bin  a-honin' 
after  b'ar-claws  foh  mek  de  finishment  ter  he  necklash.  Well 
den  ! — at  de  fust  place,  he  stick  he  haid  outen  de  do',  soster 
mek  ri'  shore  dat  'twuz  Ole  B'ar.  Den  he  come  a-flutterin'  an' 
a-miratin'  down  ter  whah  dat  ole  lub-sick  gump  been  a-sniffin' 
an'  a-snuffin'. 

"<W'y,  is  dat  yo',  Misteh  B'ar?'  sez  'e.  'Is  dat  yo',  sholy? 
W'y,  I  'clar  ter  de  goodniss  grashis,  dat  I  dat  proud  ter  see  yo' 
dat  I  don't  know  skusely  (hardly,  scarcely)  wut  ter  do  wid  my- 
se'f !  De  sight  ob  yo'  am  good  foh  so'  (sore)  eyes — 'tis  dat  !  ' 

"  Arter  dat  he  come  closte,  an'  ax  Ole  B'ar  ter  stay  an'  tek 
pot-luck  wid  um. 

"  '  I  dunno  des  wut  we  gwine  ter  hab,'  sez  'e.  '  Long  ez  yo' 
ain't  sen'  wuhd  yo'  a-comin',  yo'  hatter  chance  hit  wid  de 
ballunce  ob  us  ;  but  I  'low  de  ole  'ooman  '11  toss  up  sumpin 
ur  nurr  dat  we  kin  mek  out  on.  An'  arter  all,'  sez  'e,  a-lookin' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  in 

sorter  slantindickler  outen  he  eyes,  '  hit's  de  wa'm  weck'um ' 
(warm  welcome),  sez  'e,  '  dat  putt  de  good  tase  in  de  mouf.' 

"  Wen  he  say  all  dat  he  know  Ole  B'ar  ain't  gwine  ter  eat 
wid  'im.  He  know  dat  he  kin  spend  he  mannehs  an'  save  he 
vittles  an'  credick  at  de  se'fsame  time. 

"  Ole  B1ar,  he  wuz  mighty  tickle  at  de  good  will  ob  dat  Ole 
Woodpeckeh,  but  he  say  he  ain't  fitten  foh  comp'ny,  he  feel 
so  po'ly  ;  but  ef  de  dinneh-hawn  (horn)  ain't  blow  yit,  an' 
Woodpeckeh  got  de  time  ter  spar',  he'd  lak  er  lil  confab  wid 
'im. 

"  '  Aw  right,  den,'  sez  Woodpeckeh,  sez  'e,  a-tuhnin'  he  back 
an'  a-winkin'  ter  hisse'f,  '  Ise  de  man  foh  yoV 

"  Den,  medout  no  mo'  howdy-do, 
dey  go  down  de  woods  er  ways,  an' 
B'ar  tell  de  whole  tale  'bout  de  gal. 

"  Dat  tale  mos'  bust  Woodpeckeh. 
He  'bleege  ter  tuhn  he  haid  turr  way 
twell  he  git  smoove  out,  den  he  look 
back,  mighty  sollum,  and  say — 

"  '  De  trouble  am  right  hyeah,  my  OLE  WOODPECKER  PULL  OUT 

r   i         i  11  »  i         '     i  DE    TUSH. 

kme  fr'en' — yo'  claws  an'  yo'  tushes 
skeer  dat  gal.     Yo'  mus'  git  um  off.' 

"  B'ar  don't  lak  dat  noshun — don't  lak  hit  'tall  ;  but  Wood- 
peckeh, he  keep  on  a-torkin'  an'  a-swagin'  (persuading),  twell 
he  say — 

"  (  Well,  I  don'  lak  ter  gin  um  up,  but  I  des  mus'  hab  dat 
gal  ;  so,  if  yo'  sesso,  off  dey  go  ! ' 

"  Dat  des  wut  Ole  Woodpeckeh  want.  He  cut  off  de  claw  ; 
he  pull  out  de  tush  (tusk). 

"  '  Dar  now  !  '  say  Ole  Woodpeckeh  ;  '  dat  mo'  lak  !  Dat  lil 
gal  boun'  ter  lub  yo'  now,  she  sholy  am  ! ' 

"  So  B'ar  go  back,  an'  he  mighty  nigh  git  kilt  dat  time  ; 
kase  w'en  de  gal  see  'im  she  holler  lak  er  catamount,  an'  'er 
daddy,  dat  wuz  on  de  watch  foh  Ole  B'ar,  run  out  wid  de  gun. 


112  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Ole  B'ar,  he  go  back  ter  Ole  Woodpeckeh  des  a-r'arin'  an* 
a-pitchin'. 

"  '  Wut  I  done,'  sez  'e,  <  dat  yo'  fool  me  lak  dat  ?  Hyeah  I 
is,  wid  my  jaws  a-floppin'  an'  my  claws  all  off,  an'  de  gal  am 
wuss'n  befo'  ! ' 

"  '  Nemmine  !  nemmine  ! '  sez  Woodpeckeh  ;  '  des  wait,  hit'll 
come  right,'  sez  he.  '  Gals  is  des  natchelly  shy,  lak  de  quails 
an'  rabbits  an'  de  young  deer,  dat's  all.  Des  show  dat  gal  dat 
yo'  ain't  dangersome,  an'  den  'track  huh  'tention  by  'musinr 
ob  'er,  an'  de  game  am  yone.  I  be  darncin'  at  yo'  weddin'  in 
des  no  time.  An'  dat  'mines  me,'  sez  'e,  '  dat  ef  yo'  kyarn't 
darnce,  now  am  de  time  ter  1'arn.  De  gals  laks  dem  dat's  light 
an'  gay.  Mebbe  yo'  kin  darnce,  dough  ?  ' 

"  '  No,'  sez  B'ar,  sez  'e,  '  I  kyarn't 
darnce.' 

"'Den  yo'  gotter  1'arn,'  sez 
Woodpeckeh, 'an' Perarer-Chicken 
de  one  ter  teach  yo'.  He  my 
fr'en',  an'  I  g'long  wid  yo'  an'  ax 

PERARA-CHICKEN   TEACH    DAT        WH. 

OLE  FOOL  B'AR.  « So  dey  go  an'  ax  Perarar- 

Chicken,  an',  arter  Woodpeckeh  tuck  'im  off  ter  one  side  an' 
argyfy  some,  he  'gree  ter  de  job,  an'  teach  dat  ole  fool  B'ar. 

"  Bimeby,  B'ar  t'ink  'e  know  'nuff,  an'  he  go  ter  de  place 
whah  lil  gal  is.  He  sidle  up  closte,  an'  den  he  darnce  ! 

"  Lil  gal  fetch  'er  squall  foh  daddy,  an'  out  de  ole  man  come 
an'  shoot  dat  darncin'  ijit  plum  daid,  an'  mek  er  baid  outen  he 
hide,  an'  toller  (tallow)  outen  he  fat,  an'  eat  up  he  meat,  an' 
t'row  de  bone  ter  de  dogs  ;  an'  dat  de  las'  o'  B'ar.  But 
Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  am  w'arin'  er  mighty  fine  necklash  or 
b'ar -claws  yit." 

"  Dem  dat  ax  he'p  in  dey  co'tin'  (their  courting),  mos'  gin'ly 
gits  sarve  'bout  dataway,"  said  Granny,  sententiously. 

"  Yo'  come  mighty  nigh  a-hittin'  de  troof  dat  lick,  Aunt 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  113 

Jinny,"  said  Aunt  Mymee  ;  u  dat  is,  medoutde  he'p  am  (helped 
by)  cunjerin'  he'p.  An'  sayin'  *  cunjerinV  'mines  me,"  she 
continued,  looking  about  her,  "  is  yo'  alls  e'er  hyeah  (hear)  tell 
'bout  de  time  Ole  Woodpeckeh  laid  hisse'f  out  ter  git  Ole 
Rabbit's  cunjer-bag  ?  " 

The  company  had  not  heard  the  history;  so  Aunt  Mymee 
proceeded  to  enlighten  them. 

"  One  time,  Ole  Woodpeckeh,  he  git  he  mine  mek  up  dat 
Ole  Rabbit,  he  feel  heap  too  biggitty  (important),  an'  de  turr 
crittehs,  dey  gib  'im  lots  o'  credick  foh  sma'tness  dat  he  ain't 
'zarvin'.  Woodpeckeh  study  an'  study  'bout  hit  twell  he  feel 
mos'  'stractid. 

"  *  How  is  I  gwine  ter  fetch  Ole  Man  Rabbit  down  ? '  he  say 
ter  hisse'f.  *  How's  I  gwine  mek  de  crittehs  see  dat  he  ain't  de 
big  man  dat  he  sets  hisse'f  up  ter  be  ?  ' 

"  Dat  de  way  he  tork,  an',  suz  !  he  watch  roun'  Ole  Rabbit's 
place,  night  an'  day,  a-tryin'  ter  fix  'im.  He  try  foh  ter  cunjer 
'im,  but,  shoh  !  dat  don't  wuhk. 

"  At  de  las',  w'en  'e  mos'  wo'  out  (worn  out)  wid  a-studyin'  an' 
a-trickin',  he  mek  up  he  mine  dat  he  gwine  ter  steal  Ole  Rabbit's 
cunjer-bag,  dat  sholy'd  tek  de  imp'ence  out  ob  Ole  Chuffy,  kase 
dat  bag,  hit  des  chock-full  ob  Jacks  an'  luck-balls  an'  yarbs  an' 
chahms,  let  'lone  de  roots  dat  could  kill  ur  kyore  (cure)  des  enny- 
t'ing  an'  de  big  rabbit-foot  dat  he  mammy  gun  'im.  Oh,  yes  !  dat 
wuz  er  monsus  fine  bag.  Hit  wuz  full  o'  dem  t'ing  I  done  tole 
yo',  an',  'sides  dat,  Conquer- John  (Solomon's  Seal)  an'  may-apple 
dat  sprout  in  de  dahk  (dark)  o'  de  moon  an'  kin  tork  in  de  daid 
o'  de  night,  an'  jimson-buhs  (Stramonium  burs)  an'  olyantus 
leabes  (alanthus  leaves),  dat  mek  de  feveh-an'-ageh  (fever-and- 
ague)  in  dem  dat  smells  um,  an'  de  pizon-bags  o'  snakes  an' 
toad-haids,  an'  de  tongue  ob  er  witch  an'  de  fingeh  ob  er  chile  . 
dat  die  a-bawnin',  an'  de  slobbeh  (spittle)  ob  er  hog  an'  wolf, 
an*  dem  grizzle-blue  flowehs  dat  sprout  whah  de  daid  snake  lay 
an'  rot.  He  keep  he  fine  silveh  ball  dar,  too,  w'en  he  home." 

9 


U4         OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Wuz  dat  de  rabbit-foot  de  lef  hine-foot  ob  er  grabe-yahd 
rabbit  kilt  in  de  dahk  o'  de  moon  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Mary,  in 
an  awestruck  whisper. 

"  Hit  wuz  so,"  answered  Aunt  Mymee,  enjoying  the  uneasi- 
ness of  her  audience  ;  "  but  dat  ain'  all  he  got,  kase  de  swamp- 
witch  gun  'im  (gave  him)  de  right  front-foot,  too." 

"  Wuz  de  bag  er  bag  ob  new  linen  ?  "  asked  Big  Angy. 

"  Nuh  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Mymee,  scornfully.  "  Dat's  de  bag 
foh  er  trick.  Dis  dyeah  cunjer-bag  wuz  er  big  bag  ob  wolf-skin 
an'  hit  wuz  tan  in  de  crick  whah  de  blizzud  flug  de  sumac- 
patch. 

"  Wen  Ole  Woodpeckeh  study  'bout  all  dem  t'ing,  hit  fah 
(fairly)  sot  he  mouf  a-dribblin'.  Den  he  mek  up  he  mine  he 
gwine  ter  neighbeh  wid  Ole  Rabbit,  so  he  git  in  er  good  place 
an'  sing  er  HI  fr'en'ly  song.  Wen  Ole  Chuffy  tek  noduss  o' 
dat,  den  he  fetch  'im  er  HI  passel  ob  leabes  often  de  top  ob  de 
ash  tree,  whah  Ole  Rabbit  kyarn't  climb. 

"  Arter  dat,  he  drap  in,  in  de  ebenin's,  des  w'en  he  hat  er 
mine  (mind  to). 

"  One  time  he  drap  in  w'en  dey  wuzzent  no  un  'bout  'cepj 
des  de  HI  chilluns  an'  de  ole  granny  dat  wuz  settin'  'sleep  in  de 
chimbly  corndeh.  He  tork  mighty  putty  ter  dem  chilluns,  an' 
gin  um  some  clobeh  (clover)  for  gib  um  strenk  (strength)  an' 
some  wilier-tops  foh  mek  um  gay.  Wen  dey  eat  um  up,  den 
he  fall  to  an'  ax  um  heap  o'  queschins.  He  ax  'bout  dis  an'  dat 
an'  turr,  an'  at  de  las',  he  say — 

u '  Dat  er  mighty  big,  strong-lookin'  box,  yondeh  in  de 
corndeh,  de  one  wid  de  big  stone  'pun  top  o'  hit.  Dat  des  lak. 
one  I  use  ter  hab,  but  I  ain'  got  um  now,  I  sold  um.  Mebbe 
dis  heah  am  de  same  one.  Lemme  see  de  eenside.  Ef  hit  my 
ole  un,  hit  got  er  mahk  in  de  led  (mark  in  the  lid)  dat  I  know, 
kase  I  cut  hit  dar  myse'f." 

"  *  Oh,  no ! '  sez  dey,  'we  dassent  ter  tech  hit.  Dat's  daddy's 
chist' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  115 

"  *  Wut  o'  dat  ?  '  sez  Woodpeckeh,  sorter  limbersome  (lightly), 
lak  he  wuz  a-pokin'  fun.  'Ef  I  look  at  dat  ole  box,  yo'  don't 
reck'n  I  gwine  ter  bo'  holes  in  um  wid  my  eyesight,  does 
yo'  ?  '  sez  'e,  sorter  easy  an'  sorter  sassy  lak-all-wise. 

"  De  chilluns  sorter  jubus  (dubious).  Dey  wanter  tell,  but 
dey  ain't  sho'  dat  daddy  won't  be  mad  ef  dey  does.  Arter  dey 
stan'  an'  grin  dry  foh  er  w'iles,  de  liles'  one  kyarn't  hole  in  no 
longeh,  an'  bust  out — 

( '  Dat  ain't  no  ole  box  !  Dat  whah  Daddy  keep  de  big 
cunjer-bag  an'  all  dat  truck  dat  go  in  de  big  kittle  w'en  de 
moon  gittin'  ole.' 

"  Dat  des  de  news  Ole  Woodpeckeh  come  arter,  but  he  don't 
git  all  de  news  he  hone  foh  dat  trip,  kase  Granny,  she  sorter 
stretch  an'  flinch  lak  she  gwine  ter  wake  up,  so  off  he  go  lak 
big  debbil  blow  ahine  'im. 

"  Granny,  she  wuzzent  a-sleepin'  lak  er  rock,  she  ketch  er 
wuhd  ur  two,  an',  w'en  she  git  'er  eye  open,  she  ax  wut  bin 
a-g\vine  on. 

"  De  chilluns,  dey  feel  out  o*  sorts,  an'  dey  won't  tell. 
Nemmine !  Granny  gwine  ter  ketch  um.  She  see  er  lil 
wilier-trig  (twig)  an'  er  lil  teeny-tiny  clobeh-stem.  Dat  all  she 
ax.  She  fetch  out  suppch. 

"  Dey  kyarn't  eat. 

"  She  look  at  um  long  time  an'  projeck.  Sick  ?  No  dem 
chilluns  ain't  sick.  Cunjer  ?  No,  dey  ain't  cunjer,  kase  ef  dey 
wuz,  dey'd  holler  w'en  dey  go  by  de  big  chist.  Uh-huh  !  dey'd 
hed  sumpin  ter  eat  an'  dey  'shame  ter  tell.  Must  a-bin  Ole 
Woodpeckeh  brung  hit,  kase  de  urr  neighbehs,  dey'd  a-stayed 
twell  Granny  wuck  up.  Uh-huh  !  dem  chilluns  is  'feard  dey 
tole  sumpin  dey  otter  kep\  Uh-huh  !  dey  mus'  a-tole  'bout 
de  cunjer-bag  in  de  chist.  Co'se  !  (of  course.) 

"'  Chilluns  /' 

"  <  W-wassa  matteh,  G-Granny  ?  ' 

"  *  I  wish't  Ole  Woodpeckeh'd  drap  in.     He  ain't  bin  hyeah 


n6  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

so  long  dat  Ise  'feard  dat  de  fuss  yo'  mek  de  las'  time  he  corned 
hez  run  'im  off  fob  good.' 

"  '  Oh,  no,  Granny  !  He  wuz  hyeah  w'iles  yo'  wuz  a-sleepin'.' 

"  *  I  wish't  he  stayed,  kase  I  done  mek  'im  er  HI  luck-ball  foh 
er  present,  but,  shoh  !  he  sech  er  big  cunjer-man  hisse'f,  I 
don't  'spect  he  keer  foh  hit  arter  all.' 

"  '  Oh,  yes,  Granny  !  Ole  Woodpeckeh  des  hone  arter  um. 
He  look  at  de  big  chist  wut  hole  de  cunjer-bag  lak  ez  ef  'twuz 
full  ob  punkin-sass.' 

"  Now,  Granny  cotch  um  !  My  suz,  she  wuz  mad  !  kase 
dem  chilluns  ain't  mine  dey  daddy.  She  whirl  right  in  an'  beat 
um  wid  de  close-line  an'  druv  um  all  ter  baid  (bed). 

"  Wen  Ole  Rabbit  come  home  an'  hyeah  dat  gran'  tale  fum 
de  ole  granny  he  des  tickle  he  yeah  wid  er  straw  an'  laff.  Den  he 
onhitch  de  silveh  luck-ball  fum  de  string  dat  hilt  hit  unner  he 
yarm  (arm)  an'  putt  dat  in  de  bag  in  de  box  'long  o'  de  res'  OT 
de  chahms.  Den  he  go  ter  baid.  De  nex'  mawnin'  he  sen'  de 
fambly  out  a-visitin',  an'  w'en  dey  goned  clean  off,  den  he  sot 
down  an'  tork  er  long  time  unter  dat  silveh  ball  an'  tell  um  wut 
ter  do. 

"  Dat  settle,  he  hide. 

"  Putty  soon,  'long  come  Woodpeckeh,  hummin'  er  HI  chune, 
des  foh  ter  show  dat  he  mighty  gaily  an'  inncint. 

"  He  knock  on  de  do'—'  'Hyo,  dar,  folkses  ! ' 

"  Nobody  say  nuttin. 

"  Push  de  do'  open  er  crack.  Peek  in.  Nobody  dar,  uh  ? 
Fling  de  do'  wide  open.  Go  in. 

"(Uh-huhl  Uh-huh  1  All  tuck  out  somers  (gone  some- 
where). Dis  hyeah  my  charnce  dat  I  bin  wantin'.  Now  den, 
Old  Man  Chuffy,  I  gwine  ter  show  yo'  dat  Ole  Woodpeckeh 
am  de  biggest  man  at  de  hemp-breakin'.' 

"  Den  Ole  Woodpeckeh  cross  de  flo' — tippetty,  tippetty — 
lookin'  o'er  he  shouldeh  an'  jumpin'  w'en  er  leaf  fall  down  fum 
de  tree  at  de  windeh. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  117 

"  Bimeby,  he  mo'  sassy  feelin'  an'  he  try  ter  git  dat  big  rock 
offen  de  chist.  No  use.  He  kyarn't  do  hit.  He  push  an*  he 
pull  an'  he  heave  an'  he  strain,  twell  de  fiah  flash  outen  he 
eyeball  an'  de  blood  hum  in  he  yeahs.  Dar  'tis,  yit  he  kyarn't 
budge  um. 

"  Den  he  set  back  an'  cuss— dat  wuz  w'en  he  git  bref  'nuff. 

"  *  Shoh  !  I  gwine  ter  cut  er  hole  in  de  side  o'  dat  box  an' 
fetch  out  de  bag  dataway  !  ' 

"  He  cut  hole.  Hit  tek  long  time,  kase  dat  chist  mek  outen 
mighty  tough  oak. 

"  Shucks  !  W'en  'e  retch  (reach)  in  dar,  dar  nurr  box,  mo' 
lil  den  de  fust,  ob  iun-wood  (iron-wood). 

"  Nemmine  !  Cut  ergin  !  Cut  an'  cut  an'  cut  an'  cut.  De 
Ian'  sakes,  how  tough  am  iun-wood  ! 

"  W'en  he  mos'  ready  ter  drap,  cut  thu.  Retch  foh  de  bag 
— jimminy  squinch  ! — he  des  ketch  a-holt  ob  er  lil  hick'ry  box  ! 

"  Den  he  cut  an'  cut  an'  cut  an'  mek  de  hole  big  'nuff  in  de 
two  big  box  ter  git  de  lil  box  out. 

"  He  wuz  mos'  daid  w'en  'e  git  dat  wuhk  done,  but  'e  mek 
out  ter  git  up  de  strenk  ter  kyar  (carry)  dat  lil  box  off  ter  de 
deep  woods. 

"  W'en  he  git  dar,  lo  an'  beholes  !  he  skivveh  (discovered)  dat 
de  box  wuz  boun'  up  wid  er  hemp  rope  an'  de  rope  wuz  cunjer 
inter  tight  knots.  Dem  knots  he  don't  ontie,  he  mek  out  ter 
cut  um.  Den  'e  git  ter  de  bag  an'  lif  um  out.  Hyo  !  Dar  now  ! 
(There  now.) 

"  Dat— bag— won't — hole — still ! 

"  Hit  wiggle  an'  jounce  roun'  lak  er  'coon.  He  kyarn't  skuse 
(scarcely)  hole  um,  so  he  git  er  big  rope  an'  tie  roun'  um  an' 
den  lash  um  ter  er  big  tree,  an'  I  des  tell  yo'  dat  bag  fight  an' 
skuffle  twell  dat  tree  skreek  an'  strain  lak  'twuz  gittin'  pull  up. 

"  Nemmine  !  Ole  Woodpeckeh  t'ink  he  stop  dat.  He  pile 
de  dry  bresh  roun'  dat  bag  an'  sot  um  afiah.  De  fiah  buhn 
high,  buhn  bright,  buhn  all  red  an'  yalleh. 


ii8  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

11  All  on  de  suddent,  de  fiah  go  down  twell  dey  des  er  ball 
(there  was  only  the  ball)  un  um  roun'  de  bag  an'  hit — blue  ! 
De  lil  tounge  lap  out  fum  um  too — lick  !  lick  !  lick  !  flap  !  flap  ! 
flap  !  dem  lil  tongue  go,  des  lak  de  whole  worl'  wuz  a-buhnin'  up. 

"  Bimeby,  fum  de  middle  ob  dat  blue  ball  sumpin  say — 

"  *  Woodpeckeh,  putt  me  back  !  Woodpeckeh,  putt  me  back  ! r 

"  De  nex'  minnit  de  silveh  luck-ball  pop  out  lak  er  hick'ry 
coal  an'  keep  a-jumpin',  jumpin',  todes  Ole  Woodpeckeh.  Dat 
skeer  Ole  Woodpeckeh  so  turr'ble  bad  dat  he  fegit  all  de  spell 
dat  he  know. 

«  <  W-w-wut  yo'  arter  ?  '  he  mek  out  ter  mummle  ez  he  back 
out. 

"  '  Putt  me  in  de  lil  chist,'  say  de  luck-ball. 

"  Woodpeckeh  tuck  'im  up  an'  putt  'im  in  de  chist,  but  'e 
don't  stay,  'e  pop  out  an'  mek  at  'im  ergin. 

"  '  Putt  me  in  de  chist,'  holler  de  ball. 

"  *  Ain't  I  putt  yo'  in  de  chist  an'  mos'  buhn  myse'f  ter  def, 
yo'  so  hot  ?  '  whimple  Woodpeckeh. 

"  *  Putt  me  in  de  bag  fust,  an'  den  in  de  chist,'  say  de  luck-ball. 

"  Woodpeckeh  wuz  cunjer  (a  conjuror)  his  own  se'f  an'  he 
boun'  ter  do  dat,  dough  hit  buhn  'im  ter  de  bone.  He  retch 
inter  de  blue  fiah  an'  grab  out  dat  red-hot  wolf  bag  an'  putt  dat 
red-hot — nuh,  blue  hot — ball  inter  hit.  Den  he  tie  up  de  bag 
ergin  wid  er  string  dat  wuz  des  lak  buhnin'  whiskey-toddy. 
He  hatter  tie  hit  wid  cunjer-knots,  an'  dat  wuz  slow  wuhk. 
Den  he  drop  dat  awful  mess  inter  de  chist,  an'  all  dat  crowd 
'im  so  dat  he  ain't  got  de  time  ter  sing  dat  song  dat  kyore 
up  dem  buhn  ob  hissen. 

"  Den  de  ball  holler  out  fum  be  chist — 

"  '  Tie  we  up  des  de  way  dat  yo'  foun'  us.' 

"  Foh  de  Ian'  sake  !     He  done  cut  de  rope  inter  smidgins. 

"  Nemmine !  He  hatter  git  hemp  an'  twis'  nurr  rope. 
Arter  dat,  he  hatter  tek  de  ole  rope  an'  study  out  how  dem 
knots  Ole  Rabbit  tie  in  um. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  119 

"  All  dat  time  dem  buhns  buhnin'  lak  de  cow-eech  an'  de 
tetteh-wuhm  an'  de  run-er-oun'  all  bile  down  in  one. 

"  Arter  w'iles,  he  git  de  knots  tie.  Den  'e  tek  dat  debbil- 
box  back  home. 

"  '  Men'  up  dem  chist  dat  yo'  chop',  say  de  ball,  w'en  'e  putt 
um  whah  'e  foun'  um. 

"  He  go  back  ter  de  woods,  he  git  oak,  he  git  iun-wood  an' 
he  men'  up  dem  chists  an'  kyar  off  de  chips. 

"  ( Den  de  luck-ball  say— 

"  *  I  reck'n  yo'  got  yo'  come-uppance  (acquaintace),  so  I  let  yo' 
off  easy  dis  time.  Des  be  comf  tible  in  yo'  mine.  Dis  marter 
am  dat  HI  dat  I  ain't  gwine  ter  pester  Ole  Rabbit  wid  namin' 
hit.  G'long  home,  now,  an'  'have  yo'se'f  fum  dis  out.' 

"  So  Woodpeckeh  go  home,  an'  dem  buhns  wuz  lef  so  long 
dat  he  kyarn't  skuse  (hardly)  cunjer  um  'tall.  Dey  wuz  bad 
long  time  an'  he  wuz  keep  mighty  still. 

"  Arter  w'iles,  w'en  he  do  git  well  an'  fly  fo'th  wunst  mo',  de 
fustest  pusson  dat  he  meet  up  wid  bin  Ole  Chuffy,  an'  Ole 
Chuffy  he  sorter  grin  an'  flinch  de  nose  an*  say — 

"  4  Hyo  !     Neighbeh,  whah  yo'  bin,  dis  long  time  ?  ' 

"Woodpeckeh,  he  git  de  dry  grins  an'  he  kyarn't  say 
nuttin." 

Big  Angy  rose  in  a  fury  she  dare  not  express  in  words  and 
silently  took  her  departure. 

Aunt  Mymee  smiled  slightly  and  hastened  the  retreating 
footsteps  by  elevating  her  voice  and  singing — 

"  Ez  I  went  obeh  de  watteh, 
De  watteh  went  obeh  me. 
I  seen  er  lil  young  peckehwood 
A-settin'  on  er  tree. 
I  holler  out—'  Yo'  raskil ! ' 
He  holler  back—'  Yo'  t'ief !' 
I  up  wid  er  crookid  stick 
An'  knock  out  all  he  teef." 


IX. 

SOME    TALES   IN    WHICH   BLUE  JAY   AND    HIS 
"GWINES-ON*    FIGURE    CONSPICUOUSLY. 

"  GRANNY,  if  you  don't  tell  me  a  rabbit  story,  I  will  not  come 
here  any  more." 

"  Oh  !  go  'long,  honey,  wid  dat  kine  o'  spressifyin*.  I'm  got 
er  heap  betteh  tale  den  any  rabbit  tale  foh  yo'.  I  'gun  ter  study 
'bout  hit  in  de  night,  las'  night,  an'  hit  rowge  (rouse)  me  up  so 
dat  I  ain't  git  er  wink  ob  res'  (rest)  sence  de  chickins  crow  foh 
midnight.  I'm  gotter  tale  'bout  Ole  Blue  Jay,  honey." 

"  Why,  he  isn't  of  much  account,  is  he,  Granny  ?  " 

"  Des  hyeah  dat  chile  !— an'  he  de  one  dat  go  ter  Hell 
a-Friday  an'  kyar  san'  (sand)  an'  de  'count  ob  all  de  bad  folkses 
do,  an'  w'en  he  tek  dat  san'  an'  buil'  up  de  walls  ob  de  Bad  Place 
an'  den  gin  out  all  de  bad  news  ter  de  Ole  Boy,  den  he  load 
hisse'f  up  wid  all  de  lies  dat  he  kin  tote  an'  comes  back  mungs 
us  !  'Much  'count,  huh  ? — w'en  he  git  back  an'  tuhn  dem  lies 
aloose,  de  Lawd  know  hit  mek  no  eend  o'  quoilin'  (quarrelling) 
an'fussin'l" 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  nice  of  him,  Granny.  It  is  awful  to 
tell  things  that  are  not  true  of  people.  Why,  it  isn't  even  nice 
to  tell  what  you  really  know  if  it's  unpleasant.  You  have  said 
that  yourself.  Don't  you  remember  when  I  told  some  ladies 
about  Cousin  Georgie  falling  head-first  into  the  big  apple  butter- 
jar  the  time  he  tried  to  help  himself  without  anybody  knowing, 
that  you  said  to  me — 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO.  121 

"  'Tell-tale-tit, 

Your  tongue  shall  be  slit, 
And  every  dog  in  our  town 
Shall  have  a  little  bit  '  ? 

Don't  you  remember  that,  Granny,  and  that  I  was  so  angry  I 
cried  ?  » 

"  Sartin,  honey,  sartin,  but  dis  hyeah  am  'bout  er  trick  play  on 
Ole  Blue  Jay  an'  how  hit  git  de  folks  a-laughin'  at  'im.  Des  lissen 
wunst,  'bout  how  de  mawkin'-buhd  (mocking-bird)  sarve  'im  : — 

"  Wunst,  in  de  ole  times — de  good  ole  times  w'en  'possum- 
grease  an'  sweet-tatehs  wuz  ez  plenty  ez  dooley-bugs  an  cockle- 
buhs,  an'  de  roas'in'-yeahs  (roasting-ears)  corned  twicet  in  de 
yeah — de  (all  the)  mawkin'-buhds  ain't  know  but  des  one  chune. 
Hit  mought  a-tuhn  out  dat  dey  don't  ne'er  know  but  dat  one, 
but  'tain't  tuhn  out  dataway,  an'  dis  hyeah  am  de  reason  ob  dat." 

"  Do  hurry  !  " 

"  Uh,  huh  !  so  I  does,  honey. — Ez  I  wuz  a-sayin',  'twz  'long 
ob  Ole  Blue  Jay,  him  dat  t'ink  hisse'f  so  sma't  an'  r'aly  wuz  er 
plum  fool,  dat  de  new  chunes  kim.  Law  zee !  heap  o'  dese 
hyeah  folkses  dat  am  so  sot  up  wid  deyse'f  am  des  lak  Ole  Jay  ; 
some  un  urn's  ijits  an'  some  un  urn's  fly-up-de-criks,1  but  dey 
ain't  no  diffunce  skusely,  an'  dey  all  Ian'  in  de  mud  arter  settin' 
out  ter  show  de  res'  de  comp'ny  whah  ter  walk." 

"  Dis  de  way  de  mawkin'-buhd  fust  git  de  ijee  dat  he  lahn 
some  mo'  chunes.  He  bin  a-settin'  home  wid  er  misery  in  he 
back  an'  er  cole  in  he  haid  an'  er  squawmishness  in  he  stum- 
mick,  an'  he  kyarn't  ez  much  ez  sing  dat  one  chune  dat  he  know. 
He  sneege  an'  he  snuffle  an'  he  hawk  an'  he  spit  an'  he  moan 
an'  he  groan  an'  he  mope  an'  he  fuss,  an'  he  ain't  satify  wid 
nuttin. 

"  Miss  Mawkin'-Budh,  she  hatter  fly  roun'  an'  do  de  mahkitin 
(marketing)  huh  own  se'f.     One  de  time  she  had  bin  out  a- 
perawdin'  eroun'  a-huntin'  up  sumpin  dat  '11  lay  on  'er  ole  man's 
1  Fly-up-the-creek — a  kind  of  small  crane  or  heron. 


122  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

stummick,  she  meet  up  wid  Ole  Blue  Jay.  He  ain't  call  ter  mine 
dat  he  ain'  nurr  sot  eyes  on  'er  afo'.  She  look  so  spry  an'  so  slim, 
dat,  at  de  fust,  he  mek  up  he  mine  dat  she  er  young  gal  ;  den  she 
squinch  huh  eye  an'  look  so  keen  dat  he  des  know  she  boun' 
ter  be  er  widdeh-ooman.  He  don't  ax  no  queschins  dough,  he 
des  say,  *  Howdy,'  mighty  sorf,  and  ax  'er  kyarn't  he  hab  de 
satisfaxshun  ob  kyarn  (carrying)  home  huh  truck  (vegetables). 

"  *  Pear  lak,'  he  say,  '  hit  bin  mos'  too  big  er  tote  foh  er  slim 
young  pusson  lak  yo'se'f.  Hit'll  be  er  buhnin'  shame  ef  yo*  tote 
er  load  dat'll  mek  yo'  lop-sidey  an'  spile  dat  fine  fo'm  o'  yone,' 
he  say. 

"  At  dat  she  des  laff  an'  fly  off  wid  de  truck. 

"  Wen  she  git  home,  she  tell  'er  ole  man  an'  he  flare  up  an* 
say  he  gwine  ter  gib  Blue  Jay  er  lickin'  foh  he  imp'ence.  Den 
he  sorter  trim  up  he  feddehs  an'  say  he  dunno  but  dat  he  feel 
he  strenk  a-comin'  back  some.  Dat  minnit  he  'gun  ter  mend, 
but  he  wuzzent  nigh  kyore  up  yit.  He  lay  off  ter  git  ter  mahkit, 
nex'  mawnin',  hisse'f,  but  be  don't  git  dar  yit.  He  sot  out, 
'cordin'  ter  promiss,  a-holin'  onter  daid  lim's  an'  a-leanin'  up 
'gin  tree  trunks  ez  he  go,  an'  a-gruntin'  an'  a-groanin'  lak  er  pig 
w'en  hit  gwine  ter  be  fallin'  wedder,  but,  arter  all  dat  trouble, 
he  'bleeged  ter  tuhn  back  an'  double  up  in  de  corndeh  'gin. 

11  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd,  den  she  sot  out,  an'  toreckly  she  fly 
back,  chirripy-chippyin'  an'  a-gigglin'  fit  ter  split.  She  sot  down 
de  vittles,  an'  den  it  look  lak  she  des  fall  down  on  de  groun'  she 
so  tickle  'bout  sumpin. 

"  Dat  mek  Misteh  Mawkin'-Buhd  feel  mighty  frackshis. 

"  *  Flaxin'  roun'  a-huntin'  vittles  seem  lak  er  mighty  funny 
bizniz  foh  some  folks,'  he  say,  wid  he  eye  harf-shet.  '  I  ain't 
ne'er  foun'  hit  so,  but  some  folks  is  diffunt.' 

"He  bin  kine  o'  low  down  in  de  valley  foh  sometime,  'pun  'count 
o'  de  misery  in  he  eensides  an'  de  squawmishniss  in  he  mouf  an' 
stummick,  an'  dis  hyeah  bizniz  wid  Blue  Jay  wuz  de  las'  button 
off  Gabe's  coat. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  123 

u  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd,  she  am'  say  nuttin.  She  des  rock 
huhse'f  backudhs  an'  forruds  an'  giggle. 

"  '  Ef  yo'  los'  yo'  sense,  yo'  ain't  los'  yo'  tongue,  too,  is  yo  ? ' 
sez  'e,  an'  he  say  hit  dat  vigrous  dat  she  know  dat  she  hatter 
'splain  w'y  she  feel  so  snipshus  (pert). 

"  '  Hit's  erlong  o'  dat  ole  fool  ob  er  Blue  Jay,'  she  say,  w'en 
she  ketch  'er  bref. 

u  Dat  des  wut  he  s'pishin  (suspecting)  an'  dat  wut  mek  'im  so 
mad. 

"  '  I  reckin  he  done  mek  up  he  mine  dat  yo'  des  ez  good  ez  er 
widdeh-ooman,  ain't  he  ?  '  sez  'e. 


'MISS  MAWKIN'-BUHD  ROCK  HUHSE'F  BACKUDHS  AN'  FORRUDS  AN'  GIGGLE." 

"  Wid  dat  she  laff  ergin  twell  'er  ole  man  cuss  de  whole  kit 
an'  bilin'  o'  blue  jays.  By  dat  she  know  she  got  ter  git  'er  ole 
man  outen  dat  tanter.  Wunst  he  git  he  dander  up  right  good 
hit  gwine  ter  hang  on  lak  de  eech  ur  er  niggeh's  tase  (taste,  desire 
for)  foh  bakin-an'-greens,  so  she  dror  down  huh  face  an'  look 
des  ez  sollumcholly  ez  de  nex'  un,  an'  den  she  tek  on  an'  call 
'im '  honey  '  an' '  sugah-lump  '  an'  heap  mo'  sorf '  name  lak  dem. 
W'en  she  git  'im  cheer  up  some,  she  tell  de  tale  dat  Blue  Jay  bin 
tek  huh  foh  er  gal,  an'  w'en  he  fine  she  ain't,  he  so  flustrate  dat 
he  kyarn't  say  nuttin. 

"  Dat  sorter  pacify  Misteh  Mawkin'-Buhd,  an'  he  tuhn  roun' 


124  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

an'  drap  off  ter  sleep,  but  de  nex'  day  he  git  wuhkt  up  ergin, 
an'  de  nex'  an'  de  nex'  de  same.  By  dat  time  he  git  so  hot  dat 
he  t'row  off  all  dat  misery  des  lak  he  ole  close,  an'  he  primp  up 
he  feddehs  an'  he  sot  out  to  lay  in  de  truck  for  de  fambly  hisse'f, 
an'  lef  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd  home  ter  look  arterthe  chilluns  an' 
cl'ar  up  de  breckfus-scraps  an*  sweep. 

"  He  sot  out,  an'  he  go  'long  a-fumin'  an'  a-frettin'  an'  a-cussin' 
undeh  he  bref,  but  dey  ain't  ez  much  ez  er  squir'l  a-showin'  his- 
se'f. So  he  go  'long,  an'  he  sorter  settle  down,  an'  de  mawnin' 
bein'  putty,  an'  him  a-feelin'  good  arter  bein'  po'ly  so  long,  he 
feel  so  gay  he  'gun  ter  whistle  de  onles'  chune  dat  he  know. 
But  dat  chune  ain't  las'  long.  Des  ez  he  git  by  de  spring  an'  set 
off  on  er  shawt-cut  'cross  de  fiel's,  he  hyeah  some  un  ur  nurr 
a-hollerin'. 

"(Oh,  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd !  Oh,  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd! 
Stay  !  stay  !  stay  !  ' 

"  He  stop  dat  whustlin',  but  he  don't  stay  none.  He  des  jog 
right  on.  He  gotter  big  s'pishin  who  dat  ahine  'im,  but  he  don 
stop  nur  pass  no  wuhds  wid  'im. 

"  Den  he  hyeah  wunst  mo' — 

"  '  Stay  !  stay  !  stay  !  ' 

"  Dat  time  Ole  Jay  come  a-skimmin'  an'  a-skippin'  up  'long 
side. 

"  '  W'y,  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd,  is  yo'  done  fegit  yo'  frens  dis 
quick  ?'  sez  'e. 

"  Well !  at  dat  Misteh  Mawkin'-Buhd  des  lak  ter  split.  He 
know  him  an'  de  ole  ooman  faveh  some — dey  wuz  fust  cousins 
on  dey  mammy's  side — but  in  all  he  bawn  days  he  ain't  nurr 
'spect  ter  be  tuk  foh  er  ooman-buhd.  He  sorter  mummle  he  in 
er  big  hurry  an'  try  ter  pass  on. 

"  Jay,  he  say  dat  er  pity,  but  he  sech  er  good  fren  he  reck'n  ef  he 
hurry  too  dey  ain't  no  dejeckshins  (objections)  ter  him  gwine  'long. 

"  Mawkin'-Buhd,  he  hang  down  de  haid  an'  don't  fetch  up  er 
soun'. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  125 

"Dat  set  Ole  Blue  Jay  up.  Fust  t'ing  dey  know,  he  up  an 
co'te  Mawkin'-Buhd  des  ez  sweet  ez  er  niggeh  co'tin'  er  yaller  gal 
wid  sweet  gum  an'  'lasses-candy. 

"  Mawkin'-Buhd  say  nuttin,  but  he  listen  mighty  closte. 

"  Dat  'courage  Blue  Jay,  an'  he  say — 

"  '  Oh  !  my  deah,  sweet  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd,  my  mine  foller 
yo'  ez  de  shadder  foller  de  tree.  Oh  !  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd,  my 
mine  foller  yo'  ez  de  big  sun-floweh  foller  de  light.' 

"  Dat  de  way  he  go  on,  an'  he  say  heap 
mo'  I  done  fegit.  Lan'  sake  !  he  des  sweetin 
de  fresh  ar  (air)  ez  dey  go  'long.  Bimeby,  he 
git  so  free  dat  he  'gin  ter  baig  (beg)  an'  plead 
dat  Misteh  Mawkin'-Buhd  run  off  wid  'im. 

u  In  er  sorter  mumly  v'ice  Mawkin'-Buhd 
'greed  ter  dat,  but,  he  say,  he  boun'  ter  run 
home  fust  and  git  sumpin  dat  he  'bleege  ter  «  HE  DES  SWEETIN 

hab.  DE    FRESH    AIR    EZ 

"  So  dey  go  back,  dough,  at  de  fust,  Jay     DEY  G0  >LONG'" 
Buhd  'low  he  kyarn't,  kase  ef  he  see  Ole  Mawkin'-Buhd  dey 
boun'  ter  be  er  fuss. 

" '  He  ain'  dar,'  sez  Misteh  Mawkin'-Buhd.  '  He  out  a- 
walkin'.' 

"  '  Den  I  go,  my  honey-lub  !  ' 

"  So  dey  go  back,  an'  w'en  dey  git  dar,  Miss  Mawkin'-Buhd, 
she  riz  up,  she  did,  an'  tole  um  *  howdy,'  an'  dat  she  proud  dat 
Jay  Buhd  an'  huh  ole  man  got  ter  be  frens.  De  nex'  minnit 
she  gwine  ter  ax  Ole  Jay  ter  stay  ter  dinneh,  but  he  ain't  stop  foh 
no  eenvite,  he  des  scuttle  out  o'  dem  woods  lak  dey  wuz  afiah,  an' 
all  de  time  Misteh  Mawkin'-buhd  holler  all  dat  lub-tork  arter  'im. 

"  Well !  Mawkin'-Buhd  git  so  much  'joymint  outen  dat  w'en 
he  go  a-visitin'  de  urr  buhds,  dat  he  tuk  up  de  trick,  arter  w'iles, 
ob  takin'  um  all  off  an'  a-mawkin'  ob  um.  In  p'int  o'  fack,  dat 
de  way  he  git  de  name  he  go  by  fix  on  'im,  'fo'  dat  he  hab  nurr 
name,  de  w'iches  I  done  fegit." 


126  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

Tow  Head's  applause  was  wine  to  Granny's  spirit.  It  stimu- 
lated her  to  the  extent  of  volunteering  another  story  of  Blue 
Jay's  escapades,  u  kase  one  tale  ain't  nuttin  w'en  yo'  come  ter 
count  up  de  shines  o'  dat  triflin'  ole  buhd  round  de  young  ooman- 
buhds." 

"  Now,  lemme  tell  'bout  dat  young  Miss  Yaller-Buhd.  Ez  I 
wuz  say,  Ole  Jay,  he  wuz  allus  de  beatenes'  buhd  'bout  a-runnin' 
arter  de  young  folks.  Dey's  no  fool  lak  de  ole  fool,  de  Lawd 
know  !  an'  dar  I  mek  my  pint,  an'  Ole  Jay  he  suttingly  wuz  de 
beatenes'  (greatest)  fool  in  de  bunch.  Dey  wuzzent  one  young 
gal-buhd  in  dat  neck  ob  de  woods  dat  didn't  had  de  charnce 
ter  fling  up  'er  haid  an'  scuttle  out  o'  he  way.  Dat  wuz  de 
breedin'  (cause)  ob  er  heap  o'  fussmint  too  ;  kase  w'en  dey  th'ow 
'imoffhetuk  out  he  spite  a-whuppin'  dey  daddies  an'  all  de 
res'  ob  dey  men-folks  w'en  de  charnce  come  'long.  Oh,  yes  ! 
he  wuz  des  a-makin'  lub  an'  a-pickin'  fusses  fum  de  mawnin' 
twell  de  night,  an'  de  sho-nuff  (sure),  high-flowed,  study 
(steady)  buhds  wuz  des  plum  wo'  (worn)  out  wid  he  havishness 
(behaviour).  Dey  say,  dey  do,  dat  dey  hat  er  good  mine  ter  pay 
some  gal-buhd  ter  marry  Old  Jay  an'  gin  'im  er  charnce  to  sottle 
down  an'  ack  lak  he  sholy  got  ez  much  ez  er  grain  ob  sense. 
Whah  de  hitch  to  dat  bizniz  come  in,  honey,  wuz  dat  dem 
young  gal-buhds  don't  want  no  ole  crow-bait  lak  dat  a-torkin' 
sorf  an'  a-wallin'  up  he  eye  w'iles  dey  wuz  lots  ob  fat  an'  sassy 
young  bacheldeh-buhds  des  a-hangin'  aroun'  an'  a-watchin'  foh 
de  charnce  ter  ax  um  out  a-walkin',  ur,  mebbe,  a-flyin',  mungs 
de  tree-tops,  whah  dey  could  bill  an'  coo  twell  sundown  medout 
dey  mammies  a-takin'  paht  in  de  sesso  (conversation).  Shuh  ! 
de  gals  wid  de  feddehs  des  de  same  ez  de  gals  wid  de  silk  frocks 
an'  w'ite  apuns.  Dat's  Granny's  'pinjin,  honey,  an'  I  'low  dat 
dem  dat  try  ter  sottle  Ole  Jay  ain't  de  ones  dat  gwine  to  'spute 
hit,  mo'  speshul,  sence  de  way  it  tuhn  out.  Dey  kyarn't  do 
nuttin,  none  un  um,  wid  dem  neighbeh  gals,  but,  nemmine  ! 
Ole  Jay,  de  good  time  am  a-comin'  !  Oh,  yes  ! 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  127 

De  good  time  a-comin',  by  an'  by. 
Yo'll  git  to  Jawdin  (Jordan),  by  and  by. 
Ef  de  road  am  rocky,  don't  yo'  cry. 
Des  keep  on  a-ploddin'  an'  don't  yo'  cry.' 


"  De  good  time  foh  Ole  Jay  wuz  w'en  Miss  Yaller-Buhd  an' 
huh  folks  move  up  fum  down  nigh  Platte  Ribbeh.  Oh,  yes ! 
dat  wuz  a  big  day  foh  Ole  Jay  Buhd  w'en  dey  strike  dis  kyentry, 
'deed  hit  wuz  !  He  ain't  let  no  grass  grow  un'neat'  he  foots  w'iles 
he  bin  a-settin'  up  ter  Yaller-Buhd.  He  tote  huh  akins  (acorns) 
an'  'vite  'er  ter  de  millet-fiel'  an'  ketch  'er  whole  fambly  er  mess 
o'  grubs  an'  er  string  o'  hoppehgrasses.  Dat  mek  um  all  grin, 
kase  dat  Yaller-Buhd,  she  bin  promiss  ter  huh  elber-cousin 
(elbow-cousin — distant  relative)  down  whah  the  fambly  kim 
fum. 

"  Arter  w'iles  hit  come  'pun  Ole  Jay  dat  hit  de  time  o'  yeah 
dat  he  betteh  stop  he  foolin'  an'  mek  de  'rangemint  ter  settle 
down  ter  keepin'  house.  He  named  dat  ter  de  gal,  but,  dellaws  ! 
(the  Lord  !)  dat  Yaller-Buhd,  she  sorter  primple  up  'er  feddehs 
an'  fling  up'  er  haid  an'  hunch  up  'er  shouldeh  an'  gin  dat  ole 
Daddy  Gump  no  satifackshin  'tall. 

u  Bimeby,  he  git  desput,  an'  he  sent  her  wuhd  by  'er  own  lil 
buddy  (brother)  dat  he  gwine  ter  come  arter  'er  de  Sunday 
a-follerin',  an'  she  bleeged  ter  hab  'er  close  an'  'er  dishes  ready 
fuh  'er  weddin',  ur  he  ain't  a-comin'  no  mo'  ;  he  plum  tuckehed 
out  wi'  'er  foolin'. 

"  De  buddy,  he  grin  an'  say  he  gwine  ter  kyar  de  wuhd  (word), 
an'  he  do,  mon,  an'  den  dat  fambly,  from  de  ole  man  ter  de 
teentyes'  chile  in  pin-feddehs,  dey  all  holler  an'  laff  twell  de 
woodses  ring. 

"  Ole  Jay,  he  hilt  off,  des  ez  he  say  he  gwine  ter,  an'  he  ain't 
see  none  un  um,  nur  he  ain't  aim  ter  (intend  to)  twell  de  time 
he  'pinted.  W'en  dat  come  round,  he  primp  up  de  bes'  he 
kin,  an'  grease  up  he  feddehs,  an'  sot  out  foh  Yaller-Buhd's 
house.  Ez  he  go  'long  he  look  des  ez  foolish  ez  er  owl  dat 


128  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

bin  bile  wid  de  haid  on,  an'  he  r'ar  his  se'f  back  lak  he  own  er 
hunnerd  niggehs  an'  grin  lak  er  bake  skunk. 

"  Ez  he  go  'long  he  say  ter  hisse'f — 

"  *  Ise  willin'  ter  bet  er  fat  'possum  gin  er  sup  oj  dishwatteh 
dat  dat  gal  bin  a-peekin'  thu  de  leabes  an'  a-watchin'  ef  I  come, 
sence  de  crack  ob  day  dis  mawninV 

"  He  come  closeter  an'  sorter  shade  he  eye  an'  look. 

"  Don't  see  no  gal  a-watchin'. 

"  Go  on  furder  an'  look  ergin. 

"  She  ain't  dar,  suz  ! 

"  He  look  up,  he  look  down,  he  look  sideways.  He  ain't  seen 
none  ob  de  fambly.  Dat  sorter  check  de  grins.  Den  he  git 
brash  (bold)  wunst  mo'. 

*( '  Nemmine  !  '  he  say.  *  Gals,  dey's  allus  sheepish.  She 
run  an'  hide  huhse'f  an'  giggle,  dat  wut  she  do.' 

"  He  came  closte  up. 

"  All  des  ez  still  ez  de  grabe. 

"  *  Hi ! '  sez  'e,  *  dis  hyeah  am  heap  to  much  a'rs  (airs)  foh  er 
plain  man  lak  me  !  I  gwine  ter  pay  'er  up  foh  dat,  an'  de  res'  ob 
'er  triflin'  fambly  too,  wunst  I  git  'er  tight  an'  fas'.  I  teach  um 
mannehs  on  dey  wuthless  hides,  too  !  ' 

"  Wid  dat  he  go  up  an'  knock  an'  knock. 

"  Arter  er  mighty  long  w'iles  er  sassy  fox-squirr'l  poke  out  he 
haid  fum  'cross  de  way  an'  say — 

"  *  Hyo,  dar  !  Wut  yo'  arter  ?  Ef  yo'  got  er  bill  'gin  dem 
Yaller-Buhds,  yo'  mighty  late  'bout  c'lectin','  sez  'e.  *  Ef  yo' 
got  er  charge,  yo'  betteh  des  putt  hit  in  er  gun  an'  fiah  hit  off. 
Dat  de  onles'  way  hit  retch  (reach)  um.' 

"  Wid  dat  he  feel  so  sma't  dat  he  des  chat-tat-chatteh,  lak  he 
mos'  'stractid  wid  he  own  joke. 

"  (  Wut  de  matteh,  hyeah  ?  '  say  Ole  Blue  Jay,  des  a-sputtehin* 
an'  a-stuttehin'. 

"  *  Dem  Yaller-Buhds  move  back  whah  dey  come  fum,'  say 
Squirr'l,  winkin'  fust  one  eye  den  turr.  *  Dey  move  off,  but 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


129 


dey  ain't  move  by  deyse'f.  De  new  son-in-law  wuz  on  hans 
ter  he'p,  in  co'se.  He  done  all  de  heft  ob  de  pullin'-out '  (most 
of  the  moving). 

u  '  De — whut  \  '  .sez  Ole  Blue  Jay,  a-lookin'  sorter  wizzly 
(shrunk  up)  an'  cole. 

"  ;  De  new  son-in-law,'  sez  Squirr'l,  a-scratchin'  he  yeah  wid 
he  lef'-han'-hine-foot,  but  a-lookin'  at  Ole  Jay  all  de  time. 
*  Miss  Yaller-Buhd — yo'  know  dat  gal — she  wuz  merry  one  o' 
dem  Bobberlinkum  kinfolks  ob  hern.  W'y  Ise  sholy  s'prise, 
Misteh  Jay,  dat  yo'  a'nt  hed  no  eenvite,  beein'  ez  yo'  sech  er 
fren  ob  de  fambly,'  sez  'e,  lookin'  mighty  sollum.  '  I  reckin 


"  OLE  JAY,    HE   DES   TUHN   HE   BACK   ON   SQUIRR'L  AN   CUST." 

w'y  dey  don't  Vite  yo'  ain't  no  imp'uence,  dough.  I  reckin  hit 
des  kase  dey  t'ink  dat  er  ole  chap  lak  yo'  ain't  tek  no  intruss  in 
sech  doins.' 

"  Wen  he  say  dat  he  wunk. 

u  Ole  Jay,  he  ain't  mek  no  arnser,  he  des  tuhn  he  back  on 
Squirr'l  an'  cust.1' 

"  He  was  a  very  naughty  bird,  Granny.      If  he  does  that  he 
will  surely  go  to  the  Bad  Place  when  he  dies." 

10 


130  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  He  go  dar  a-libbin',  honey.  Ain't  I  des  tell  yo'  he  go  an' 
pack  san'  dar  foh  he'p  bull'  up  de  walls  an'  keep  de  po'  bilin* 
sinnehs  in  ?  Co'se,  he  don't  mine  dat,  kase  he  go  dar  des  ez 
reg'ler  ez  Friday  come.  Yo'  ain't  ne'er  see  er  jay-bund  a-Friday 
in  all  yo'  bawn  days,  is  yo',  now  ?  " 

"  I  can't  remember." 

"  Wut  dat  yo'  kyarn't  'membeh,  honey  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Mary, 
who  entered  the  cabin  as  Tow  Head  spoke. 

"  About  Blue  Jay  going  to  the  Bad  Place  on  Fridays,  Aunt 
Mary." 

"  Huh  !  Co'se  he  go.  He  de  Ole  Boy'  pet,"  said  Aunt  Mary, 
for  once  looking  serious  ;  "  but,  nemmine  !  he  git  he  come- 
uppance (settlement)  foh  all  dat.  Bar's  Miss  Wren,  now,  I  boun' 
she  gin'  im  er  flea  in  he  yeah.  Oh,  yes  !  she  mek  'im  laff  out  de 
turr  side  o'  he  mouf.  Miss  Wren,  she  mighty  high-strung,  an' 
hit  am  er  wuhd  an'  er  lick  wid  huh,  an'  de  lick  come  fust,  ginly. 
She  de  in'my  ter  de  Ole  Boy  an'  all  he  folks  an'  frens  too. 
Wunst  she  peck  'im  in  de  eye  des  'pun  'count  ob  huh  'ligion, 
an'  she  mos'  laid  out  Ole  Jay." 

"Tell  me  about  it — tell  me  all  about  it !  Don't  skip  like 
mamma  does  sometimes  when  she  tells  stories." 

"  'Tain't  me  dat  skips.  Hyeah  de  tale,  honey,  but  it  sorter 
triflin'  arter  wut  Granny  kin  git  off : — 

a  One  time,  Ole  Blue  Jay,  he  wuz  a-paradin'  thu  de  woods, 
hollerin'  sass  an'  a-peckin'  at  de  young  buhds  an'  a-kickin'  up 
de  bigges'  kine  ob  er  fuss  ter  show  off  he  biggittyness.  Den 
wuz  w'en  he  git  er  settin'-down  he  ain't  nowise  a-lookin'  foh. 
Hit  wuz  dishaways  :  he  wuz  a-r'arin'  eroun'  a-payin'  no  heed 
ter  whah  he  wuz  a-gwine,  w'en  he  flewed  up — blip  ! — ergin 
sumpin  ur  nurr,  an'  he  gin  er  smack  wid  he  bill  an'  he  say — 

"  (  Git  out  de  way,  orkidniss,  an'  don't  stop  up  de  road  w'en 
yo'  bettehs  is  a-gwine  by  ! ' 

"  *  Bettehs  ! '  say  er  lil  fine,  f 'erce  v'ice,  an'  at  de  same  time  he 
git  er  clip  un'neat'  he  wing  dat  he  ain't  gwine  ter  fegit  in  er 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  131 

minnit.  '  Bettehs,  huh  ?  Who  dem  dat  ain't  yo'  bettehs,  Kyen- 
tery  Jake  ? ' 

"  Good  Ian' !  wuzzent  Ole  Jay  Buhd  mad  w'en  he  hyeah  dat 
sass  an'  feel  dat  clip  ! 

"  '  Des  afo'  I  wipes  yo'  offen  de  face  ob  de  yeath,  come  out  o' 
de  shaddehs  (shadows)  an'  lemme  see  wut  sort  ob  er  flea  I 
torkin  ter,'  he  say,  soon  ez  he  c'd  git  he  bref. 

"  He  wuz  a-seein'  den,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  parenthetically, 
"but  he  wuzn't  lettin'  on,  a-puppus  to  rile  Miss  Wren,  kaseshe 
ain't  ne'er  own  up  dat  she  mo'  liller  den  de  turr  buhds. 

"  '  Come  out  in  de  sun,  den,'  say  de  HI  fine  v'ice,  '  ef  yo' 
wanter  see  yo'se'f  git  de  good  lickin'  dat  yo'  mammy  orter  gun 
yo'  dis  long  w'iles  back.' 

"  At  dat  dey  bofe  step  out  in  de  bright  light,  an'  Ole  Blue 
Jay  'low  dat  am  de  Hies'  buhd  dat  he  e-er  clap  eye  on. 

"  *  Well !  dey  ain't  no  credick  ter  git  outen  lickin'  yo',  yo' 
po'  HI  ha'f-er-minnit  ob  de  ooman  seek,'  he  say.  '  I  reckin  I 
ain't  gwine  ter  kill  yo'  ef  yo'  tell  yo'  name  an'  whah  yo'  kim  fum.' 

"  *  Ise  fum  Ole  Feginny,  I  is,  an'  my  name,  hit's  Miss  Wren,' 
say  de  HI  critteh,  ez  f 'erce  ez  er  catamount,  '  an'  I  ain't  tell  dat 
kase  Ise  'feard,  I  tell  hit  kase  I  ain't  'shame  o'  whah  I  kim  fum 
ur  de  fambly  I  'longs  ter.  I  des  kim  out  hyeah  w'en  de  w'ite 
folks  do — de  quality  w'ite  folks  dat  got  heaps  o'  niggehs  an' 
plundeh  ter  move.' 

"  (  Uhhuh  !  Uh  huh  ! '  say  Ole  Jay  Buhd,  a-cockin'  up  he  eye 
an'  a-lookin'  la,k  he  know  hit  all.  '  Uh  huh  !  uh  huh  ! — dey  hab 
sech  er  heap  o'  plundeh  ter  move  dat  dey  ain't  got  no  room  ter 
fetch  yo'  mannehs  erlong.  Uh  huh  ! — Well  !  I  mighty  glad  I 
foun'  out  w'y  yo'  ain't  got  none,  I  is,  fo'  er  fack.' 

"Whoop! 

"  Ef  dat  HI  wren  ain't  got  'er  dander  up  ! 

"  (  Wut  yo'  know  'bout  mannehs  ?  '  she  holler  out. 

"  *  Nuttin  'tall,  fum  wut  I  see  afo'  me,'  sez  Ole  Blue  Jay,  des 
ez  cool  ez  er  cowcumber. 


132  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Hit's  de  bigges'  wunneh  dat  lil  wren  ain't  bustid  she  so 
mad.  She  r'ared  an'  she  pitched  an'  she  hollered  an'  she 
stomped.  Wen  she  git  'er  bref,  she  say — 

" ( Stop  yo'  imp'ence,  yo'  low-down  trash  !  Ef  I  ain't  squall 
out  ter  my  ole  man  dat  he  come  an'  trounce  de  life  outen  yo', 
hit's  kase  I  know  dat  I  kin  ten'  ter  dat  martef  my  own  se'f. 
Come  hyeah,  an'  yo'll  feel  me  gittin'  dinneh  ready  foh  de 
buzzuhds  ! ' 

"  Wid  dat  she  pitch  inter  Jay  Buhd  an',  suz  !  she  gin  'im  er 
sockydolligy  (blow)  in  de  eye  dat  des  natchelly  shet  dat  eye. 
Den,  des  ez  quick  ez  wink,  she  play  popgun  wid  turr  eye,  an'  Ole 
Jay,  den  he  des  hatter  tuhn  tail  an'  fly  inter  de  woods  an'  hide 
hisse'f  mungs  de  t'ick  leabes.  Ef  he  ain't  done  dat,  ole  Miss 
Wren,  she'd  sholy  a-kep'  'er  promuss  an'  mek  'im  inter  buzzehd- 
meat  (a  corpse),  sho  miff." 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed,  but  her  mirth 
was  of  short  duration.  She  suddenly  turned  very  grave  and 
thoughtful.  "Do  you  think  Miss  Wren  was  a  lady?"  she 
asked,  after  long  consideration. 

"  Ain't  she  say  she  wuz  brung  up  mungs  de  quality  ?  "  asked 
Aunt  Mary,  winking  privately  at  Granny. 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  said  !  "  exclaimed  the  child.  "  She 
was  not  a  lady.  People  that  slap  and  bite  can  never,  never 
grow  up  to  be  ladies." 

"How  yo'  fine  dat  out?"  asked  Aunt  Mary,  with  a  smile 
entirely  too  significant  to  be  pleasant. 

The  child  blushed  and  wriggled  uncomfortably. 

"I  like  Blue  Jay  better  than  Miss  Wren,  anyway,"  she 
averred.  "  He  isn't  any  badder  than  some  other  birds." 

"  Dat's  so,  honey,"  said  Granny,  soothingly.  "  An'  ef  yo' 
am  o'  mine  ter  lissen,  I  tell  yo'  er  tale  'bout  de  time  all  de  turr 
buhds  hatter  gin  in  ter  dat." 

"  Tell  it,  you  dear,  sweet,  good  old  Granny,"  said  Tow  Head, 
caressing  the  wrinkled  brown  face  of  ner  friend  with  both  her 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  133 

little  hands  and  heaving  a  sigh  of  relief  at  thought  of  a  stop 
being  made  to  Aunt  Mary's  questions. 

"  Dat's  de  tale  yo'  am'  nurr  told  me,"  grumbled  Aunt  Mary, 
"  kase  I  ain'  know  ter  dis  day  'bout  Old  Daddy  Blue  gittin' 
credick  nowhurs." 

"  Ise  mighty  ole,"  said  Granny,  with  lofty  calmness,  "  Ise 
mo'n  er  hunnerd,  an'  ef  I  ain't  tole  yo'  des  all  de  fack  dat  I 
gedder  up  in  dat  time  ahine  me,  hit  kase  I  ain't  yit  git  de  time, 
Miss  Mary  Sallee.  In  co'se,  I  mought  er  know  mo'  ef  I  bin 
mo'  strong  in  de  haid,  but  I  done  de  bes'  I  kin  an'  I  kyarn't 
po'  (pour)  hit  all  out  ter  wunst." 

When  Aunt  Mary  was  called  by  so  dignified  a  title  as  "  Miss 
Sallee,"  she  knew  it  was  time  to  apologise. 

"  I  ain't  mean  no  ha'm,  Aunt  Jinny,"  she  protested,  meekly. 
**  In  co'se,  I  know  hit  tek  yo'  mighty  long  time  ter  tell  de  ha'f 
dat  yo'  know,  but  dem  tales  o'  yone  so  fine  dat  Ise  alms  on  de 
stretch  les'  yo'  tell  some  dat  I  miss." 

"  Dey  ain't  no  big  loss  ef  yo'  do  miss  um,  Aunt  Mary,"  said 
Granny,  mollified  by  her  friend's  speech,  "  dough  yo'  is 
suttinly  de  flattines'  lady  dat  I  know  in  de  way  dat  yo'  name 
um.  Lawd  !  I  des  wisht  I  hab  er  fip  (five  cent  piece)  de  hun- 
nerd foh  de  good  wuhds  yo'  gimme,  I'd  be  heap  too  rich  ter 
wuhk  enny  mo,'  dat  I  would  !  " 

"  If  you  were  rich,  Granny,  you  would  move  way  off  into  a 
great  house,  and  then  if  I  came  out  here  I'd  cry  myself  sick 
instead  of  hearing  pretty  stories,"  cried  Tow  Head,  in  vigorous 
protest  against  the  vanity  of  riches. 

Granny's  old  laugh  crackled  like  brush  fire.  "  Ef  yo'  don't 
cry  none  twell  yo'  ole  Granny  git  rich,  honey,"  she  said,  "  dem 
blue  eyes  ob  yone  ain't  gwine  ter  hab  de  brightness  wash  out  o' 
um  dis  side  de  Jawdin  Ribber,  dat's  shore." 

Tow  Head  thanked  her  for  this  renunciation  of  wealth  with 
a  grateful  look,  but  turned  the  conversation  to  the  procure- 
ment of  present  advantage. 


134  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Do  go  on  with  the  other  story,  Granny.  Aunt  Mymee 
will  come  for  me  as  soon  as  she  can  leave  the  baby,  and  I'll 
have  to  go — immediately — Mamma  said  so." 

"  Hyeah  'tis,  chile  :— 

"  In  de  ole  times,  Hawk,  he  wuz  de  meanes',  beatines'  t'ing 
dat  go  on  two  laigs.  He  kilt  de  buhds,  he  did,  he  kyar  off  de 
putty  lil  bunnies,  he  ketch  de  chickens,  he  go  ez  fur  ez  ter  spy 
down  in  de  grass  an'  git  a-holt  ob  Ole  Tucky-Hen's  young  uns." 

"  That  was  a  shame  !  The  sweet  little  peep-peep  turkies  are 
prettier  than  anything  else  in  the  world.  What  did  he  do 
when  he  took  hold  of  them  ?  Did  he  wish  to  make  them  cry 
'  peep,  peep  ?  '  " 

"  Wuss  .den  dat,  honey,  heap  wuss.  He  des  tuck  um  ter 
he  nes',  for  dem  ugly,  f'erce  young  uns  ob  hissen  ter  eat, 
dat  wut  he  did.  W'y,  all  thu  de  woods  an'  de  grass  all  de 
mammies  wuz  a-cryin'  an'  a-queechin'  foh  dey  po'  lil  young 
ones." 

"  That's  just  the  way  Herod  did,  but  he  didn't  live  long.  He 
was  punished  for  his  sins.  Was  Hawk  ?  " 

"  Honey,  meanness  am  boun'  ter  git  paid  foh  at  de  highes' 
price  goin',  des  putt  dat  in  yo'  pipe  and  smoke  hit,  but  hole 
on  !  lemme  tell  dis  now  an'  den  yo'  set  f 'th  yo'  'pinyun. 

"  At  de  las',  Hawk,  he  git  a-holt  de  bigges'  boy  ob  Ole  Blue 
Jay.  Ole  Jay,  he  miss  dat  chile  an'  he  go  a-hollerin'  arter  'im 
evvywhurs.  'Long  at  de  fust,  dey  wuzzent  no  one  tole  'im  wut 
went  o'  de  chile,  kase  he  wuhkt  sech  er  heap  o'  debbil»M»/ 
hisse'f  (he  own  bill  ain't  so  mighty  clean  fum  aig-suckin'  an' 
th'oat-cuttin'),  but  arterwuhds  he  foun'  out.  He  go  a-hollerin' 
fit  ter  mek  de  daid  hyeah  an'  a-lookin'  evvywhurs  'cep'  in 
de  lookin'-glass,  twell  bimeby  he  git  way  out  on  de  open 
perarer.  Dey  wuzzen'  one  tree  dat  he  hab  sp'ile  ob  nestes  in 
sight.  He  in'mies  wuz  all  'way  off,  an'  dar  he  wuz  !  He  wuz 
dat  tuckehed  out  dat  he  squot  ri'  down  flat  on  de  groun'  ter 
res'  hisse'f.  He  wuz  dat  wo'  out  dat  he  ain't  pay  no  'tenshun 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  135 

ter  nuttin.  Bimeby,  dough,  he  rouge  up,  kase  he  hyeah  heap 
o'  lil  fine  soun's.  He  lif  up  he  yeah  an'  lissen.  De  soun'  come 
mo'  plain,  hit  run  'long  de  grass  lak  wile-fiah,  'Wut  ail  'im  ? 
wut  ail  'im  ? '  hit  say.  He  look.  See  nuttin.  Lissen  'gin. 
Dar  'twuz  !  Den  he  mek  hit  out.  Hit  wuz  dem  lil  brack  gnats, 
a-hoppin'  roun'  mungs  de  blades  o'  de  medder  grass. 

"'Wutail'im?     Wut  ail 'im?' 

"  Den  de  arnser  come — 

"  (  Hawk  kilt  he  fustes-bawn.  Hawk  kilt  he  fustes-bawn.' 
Hit  wuz  de  grass  dat  tellt  hit. 

"  «  Who  tole  yo  ?  Who  tole  yo  ?  '  ax  de  gnats. 

"  De  win'  (wind)  tole  us.     De  win'  tole  us.' 

"  *  Wut  hawk  done  hit  ?  Wut  hawk  done  hit  ? ' 

"  *  De  one  wid  de  nes'  in  de  ole  sycamo'  tree.  De  one  wid  de 
nes'  in  de  ole  sycamo'  tree.' 

"  <  W'y  don't  Ole  Jay  Buhd  pay  'im  off?  W'y  don't  Ole  Jay 
Buhd  pay  'im  off  ?  '  ax  de  gnats. 

"  *  Kase  he  'feard.  Kase  he  'feard.  All  de  turr  buhds  'feard 
o'  hawk,  'feard  o'  hawk,'  de  grass  mek  arnser  wunst  mo'. 

"  Den  all  de  lil  bugs  an'  wuhms  down  dar  mungs  de  grass 
roots  tek  up  de  song  an'  'gree  dat  no  un  kin  stan'  up  'gin 
Hawk.  Dey  all  'feard,  fum  fust  ter  las'..  He  wuz  des  de  same 
ez  ole  Conqueh-John  hisse'f.  '  Mo'n  dat,'  sez  dey,  '  Ole  Jay 
Buhd,  arter  all  he  ruckshisness,  am  run  plum  off.  S'pec'  he 
'feard  Hawk  eat  him  ef  de  young  meat  fall  shawt.' 

11  Dat  mek  Blue  Jay  dat  mad  dat  he  des  riz  up  a-screamin' — 
dey  ain't  dremp  he  c'd  hyeah,  dey  tork  so  fine — an'  he  flewed 
lak  he  des  fresh  up  in  de  mawnin'. 

"  He  flewed  an'  he  flewed  twell  he  git  ter  de  ole  sycamo'  whah 
Hawk  tuck  up  he  stan'.  (He  suttinly  ain't  know  twell  den  dat 
Hawk  et  dat  chile.)  W'en  he  git  dar  Hawk  an'  he  old  ooman, 
dey  bofe  gone.  Nemmine  !  de  chilluns  at  home.  He  tuck  anr 
flung  um  all  outen  de  nes'  an1  kilt  um  daid. 

"  'Bout  dat  time,  hyeah  come  Hawk  a-sailin'  home.     Ez  he 


136  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

sorter  ring  round  an'  sa'nter  up,  Ole  Blue  Jay  jump  right  onter 
he  back,  an',  suz  !  how  he  do  bite  an'  claw  'im,  on  de  haid,  de 
wings,  de  back !  My!  he  des  rode  'im  lak  er  hoss  an'  bit  'im 
lak  good  vittles.  Hawk,  he  ain't  kin  hit  back,  kase  Jay  Buhd 
right  on  top  ob  'im,  an'  so  hit  come  ter  dat  pass  dat  Ole  Jay, 
he  rid  'im  plum  outen  de  sottle;#//z/.  Sidesen  dat,  he  sot  er 
mahk  'pon  Hawk,  he  do,  dat  stick  ter  'im  ter  dis  day.  Afo'  dat 
scrimmage,  Hawk'  feddehs  wuz  all  de  same.  Dat  day  dey  git 
all  bloody.  Wen  dat  blood  dry,  hit  mek  dahk  streak  an'  spot 
an'  dar  dey  is  yit,  dey  ain't  ne'er  bresh  off. 

"Wen  Blue  Jay  git  thu  wid  dat  trouncin'  he  go  hoggin* 
(moving  slowly  or  dejectedly)  off  home  whah  he  lib  mungs  de 
cotton-woods.  He  sorter  proud  'bout  dat  lickin',  but,  oh  !  he 
sorry  'bout  de  'casion  ob  hit.  He  sot  down  on  er  limb  wid  he  tail 
an'  wing  a-hangin'  an'  he  ain't  say  nuttin  ter  buhd  ur  debbil, 
but  hit  leak  out,  de  tale  ob  dat  lickin'  do,  kase  de  win'  tell  de 
grass,  an'  wut  de  grass  know  am  boun'  ter  go  de  rounds.  De 
grass  don't  keep  nuttin  back.  Den  de  buhds  git  de  whole  tale 
an',  suz,  dey  mek  de  miration  !  Dey  ain't  sot  on  (do  not  like) 
Ole  Jay,  but,  my  !  he  er  suckin'  turkle-dove  'long  o'  Hawk." 

While  Tow  Head  was  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  whether 
she  liked  that  story  or  not,  Aunt  Mymee  appeared  and  gave 
her  a  concise  invitation,  in  the  name  of  her  parents,  to  "  'have 
putty,"  say  her  prayers  and  go  to  bed. 

As  a  reward  for  "  'havin'  tollible,"  Aunt  Mymee  sang  her 
this  song,  which  is  supposed  to  imitate  the  scream  of  a  jaybird : 


M  Ez  I  wuz  gwine  thu  de  woods,  I  met  er  sassy  jay, 

Jay  !  Jay  ! 
I  axt  'im  wut  dey  wuz  ter  eat  an'  wut  dey  wuz  ter  pay, 

Pay!  Pay! 
Ez  I  wuz  gwine  'crost  de  fiel',  I  met  er  sassy  jay, 

Jay  !  Jay  !  Jay  ! 
I  axt  'im  wut  dey  wuz  ter  eat  an'  wut  dey  wuz  ter  pay, 

Pay  !  Pay  !  Pay ! 
Ez  I  wuz  gwine  up  de  hill,  &c., 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  137 

Jay  !  Jay  !— Jay  !  Jay  ! 
I  axt  *im  wut  dey  wuz  ter  eat,  &c., 

Pay  !  Pay  !— Pay  !  Pay  ! 
Ez  I  wuz  gwine  down  de  lane,  &c., 

Jay  !  Jay  !— Jay  !  Jay  ! 
I  axt  'im,  &c., 

Pay  !  Pay !— Pay  !  Pay  !  Pay  !  " 


X. 


11  OLE  RABBIT  AN"  DE  DAWG  HE  STOLE"— HOW  HE 
OBTAINED   GOPHER'S    WINTER  SUPPLIES. 


ON'T    anybody    know    any    more 
rabbit  stories  ?  " 

Tow  Head's  glance  wandered 
from  one  to  another  of  the  five 
wise  women  grouped  about  the 
fireplace,  fraught  with  mingled 
scorn  and  entreaty. 

The  wise  women,  led  by  Aunt 
Mary,  laughed  so  exasperatingly, 
that  Tow  Head's  small  stock  of 

THE  RABBIT  FAMILY.  patience   flared  up  and  went  out 

like  the  spray  of  dead  leaves  clinging  to  the  great  log  that  did 
double  duty  as  heater  and  illuminator. 

"  I'm  going  to  Mamma,"  she  said,  rising  with  a  great  show  of 
offended  dignity.  "I'm  going  immediately,"  she  added,  cross- 
ing the  floor.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  dark." 

"  Co'se  not,"  said  Granny.  "  None  o'  yo'  folks  'feared  o' 
nuttin.  In  dat  dey's  diffunt  fum  Ole  Rabbit,  wid  all  he  sly 
trick,  he  git  skeered." 

"  Who  sesso?  "  growled  Big  Angy. 

138 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO.  139 

"  I  sesso.  I  kin  prube  dat,  too,  by  de  tale  ob  Ole  Chuffy  an' 
dat  dawg  he  stole  fum  de  w'ite  man.  Wuzzent  he  skeer  w'en 
de  dawg  tuck  out  arter  'him  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  mine  dat  tale." 

By  this  time  Tow  Head  was  in  Granny's  lap  and  the  two 
friends  were  sitting  cheek  pressed  against  cheek,  greatly  to 
Aunt  Mymee's  chagrin. 

"  Hit  wuz  lak  dis,"  said  Granny,  pressing  the  child  closer  an! 
half-shutting  her  eyes. 

"  In  de  good  ole  times,  Ole  Rabbit  wuzzent  scrouge  (crowded) 
none  by  de  neighbehs.  Hit  wuz  miles  ter  de  corndeh  ob  enny 
urr  man's  fiel'. 

"  Arter  w'iles  Misteh  Injun  an'  he  folks,  dey  sot  um  up  er 
sottlemint,  but  dat  ain't  nuttin,  kase  dey  wuz  alms  a-perawdin' 
eroun'  an'  a-ketchin'  up  dey  plundeh  an'  a-movin'. 

"Bimeby,  dough,  'long  come  de  w'ite  man,  a-choppin'  down 
de  trees  an'  a-diggin'  up  de  yeath.  Den  wuz  de  time  all  de 
crittehs  pack  up  dey  go-ter-meetin'  close  in  er  piller-case  an'  git 
ready  ter  staht  off,  kase  dey  know  Misteh  W'ite  Man  come  foh 
ter  stay,  an'  he  ain't  de  kine  dat  want  ter  sleep  free  ur  fo'  (three 
or  four)  in  de  baid,  an'  dey  ain't,  ne-er.  Dat  am,  all  un  um  'cept 
Ole  Chuffy  Rabbit  an'  de  Squirr'l  fambly  sot  out  j  dem  two 
'low  dey  gwine  ter  tough  hit  out  er  w'les  longeh. 

"  Wut  pester  Ole  Chuffy  mo'  den  all  de  res'  wuz  dat  w'ite 
man's  dawg.  Hit  wuzzent  lak  dem  Injun  davvgs  dat's  scattein' 
(running)  roun'  de  kyentry  terday,  an'  in  de  pot  termorrer." 

"  What  kind  of  a  dog  was  it,  Granny — exactly  what  kind  ?  " 

"  Hit,"  said  Granny,  reflectively,  with  a  look  into  space  as  if 
her  mind's  eye  beheld  it — u  hit  wuz  er  houn'-dawg.  One  o'  dem 
lanky,  shahp-nose  dawg  dat  hunt  all  day  an'  howl  all  night. 
Hit  wuz  ez  still  ez  er  fox  on  er  tuck  (turkey)  hunt  fum  day- 
break twell  cannel-light,  but  des  wait  twell  de  sun  go  down  an' 
de  moon  come  up — oh,  Lawd  ! — (  Ah-oo-oo-oo  !  Wow,  ow,  ow  ! 
Ah-oo-oo-oo  ;  Wow,  ow,  ow  ! '  hyeah  hit  go  fum  mos'  sundown 


140  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

ter  mos'  sun-up,  an'  dat  wuz  de  mos'  aggervatines'  soun'  dat 
de  Ole  Boy  e'er  putt  in  de  th'oat  ob  er  libbin'  critteh.  Hit  des 
'stractid  Ole  Rabbit.  He  flounce  roun'  in  de  baid  lak  er  cat- 
fish on  er  hook.  He  groan  an'  he  grunt  an'  he  tuhn  an'  he 
roll,  an'  he  des  kyarn't  git  no  good  res'.  He  bin  one  o'  de 
smoove-torkin'  kine  gin'ly,  but  dat  houn',  hit  mek  'im  cuss 
twell  Ole  Miss  Rabbit,  she  'bleege  ter  roll  de  bed-kivvehs  roun' 
huh  yeahs,  she  dat  scannelise. 

"  '  W'y  don't  yo'  get  outen  de  baid  an'  tuhn  yo'  shoe  wid  de 
bottom  side  up  an'  set  yo'  bar'  foot  onto  hit  ? '  she  say.  *  Dat 
mek  enny  dawg  stop  he  yowlin'.' 

"  '  Well !  ain'  I  done  it  forty-leben  ti  me  ? 
say  Ole  Man  Rabbit,  des  a-fumin'  an'  a 
snortin'.  '  Ain'  I  bin  a-hoppin'  in  an'  out  de 
baid  all  he  lib-long  night  ?  Co'se  hit  stop 
um  foh  er  harf  er  jiff  (an  instant)  an'  den  hit 
chune  up  ergin  'fo'  I  des  kin  git  de  baid 
wa'm  unner  me.' 

"  (  Ah-oo-oo-oo  !    Wow,  ow,  ow  !    Ah-oo- 
RABBIT  TEK  DAT     oo-oo  !     Wow,   ow ',  ow  !  '      Dat   ole   houn' 

TOLLER-DIP    IN    HIS     f   t    fa  er  J  d    t  f    ,      (f   j rf    j   mek  de  man    jn 

HAN'.  * 

de  moon  blink. 

"  '  Cuss  dat  ole  dawg  !  Cuss  'im  I  say  !  W'y  don'  dat  fool 
dat  own  um,  stuff  er  cawn-cob  down  he  frote,  ur  chop  he  wuth- 
less  kyarkiss  inter  sassidge-meat  ?  '  sez  Old  Rabbit,  sez'  e.  '  I  gin 
up  on  de  sleepin'  queschin,  dis  night,'  sez  'e,  '  but  I  lay  I  ain't 
'sturb  lak  dis  in  my  res'  tormorrer,'  sez'  e. 

"  Wid  dat  he  bounce  out  on  de  flo'  an'  haul  on  he  britches, 
an'  light  er  toller-dip,  an'  he  tek  dat  toller-dip  in  he  ban',  an'  he 
go  pokin  roun'  mungs  de  shaddehs  lak  he  a-huntin'  foh  sumpin. 

"  Scratch,  scratch  !  scuffle,  scuffle  !  he  go  in  de  corndehs  ob  de 
cubberd. 

"  Ah-oo-oo-oo  !    Wow,  ow,  ow  !  go  de  houn'  outside. 

"  Scratch,  scratch  !  scuffle,  scuffle  ! 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  141 

"  Ah-oo-oo-oo  !    Wow,  ow,  ow  ! 

"  Scratch,  scratch  !  scuffle,  scuffle  ! 

"  Ah-oo-oo-oo  !    Wow,  ow,  O-O-OW  ! 

"  An'  so  dey  kip  hit  up  twell  ole  Miss  Rabbit  dez  ez  mad  at 
one  ez  turr. 

"  *  Wut  t's  yo'  doin',  Misteh  Rabbit  ?  '  she  ax.  *  Is  yo'  run  er 
brier  in  yo'  foot  ?  Is  yo'  gittin'  fat  meat  foh  hit  ?  ' 

"  ( No,'  sez  'e,  mighty  shawt ;  '  I  ain'  got  no  brier  in  my  foot 
dat  I  knows  on,  but  I  gotter  brier  in  my  mine  'bout  de  size  ob 
er  snipe-bill,  ef  I  ain't  mistookencd.' 

"  At  dat  she  let  fly  er  swa'm  o'  queschins,  but  he  des  grin 
dry  and  say — 

u  (  Ax  me  no  queschins  an'  I  tell  yo'  no  lies,  Don'  bodder 
me,  ole  ooman.  I  ain't  feel  berry  strong  in  de  haid,  dis  mawnin', 
an'  1  mought  answer  queschins  wid  my  fist,  ef  I  gits  pestered.' 

"  Dat  shet  'er  up,  in  co'se,  dough  she  ain't  satisfy. 

"  Toreckly,  day  gun  ter  brak  an'  he  blow  out  de  cannel  an' 
she  sot  in  ter  git  brekfus. 

"  Ez  de  light  git  strong,  she  noduss  he  step  sorter  lop-side. 

"  *  fs  yo'  got  er  brier  in  yo'  foot  ?  ' 

"  '  Hit  in  my  mine,  ooman.' 

"  Putty  soon  she  holler  out — 

" '  Who  bin  techin'  de  braid  ?  Somebody  bin  a-cuttin'  de 
braid  !  I  lay  I  gotter  trounce  dem  greedy  chilluns  for  dat. 
'Pear  lak  I  kyarn't  set  down  nuttin,  dese  days,  but  dey  gotter 
muss  in  hit !  I  gwine  ter  cut  me  er  big  hick'ry  lim',  dis 
mawnin',  an'  see  ef  I  kyarn't  lick  some  mannehs  inter  de  whole 
kit  an'  bilin'  un  um  !  In  de  meanw'iles  o'  gittin'  dat  lim',  I 
gwine  to  smack  de  jaws  ob  de  whole  crowd.' 

"  *  No,  yo'  ain't,'  sez  Old  Rabbit,  sez  'e.  (  Des  lef  dem  young 
uns  o'  mine  'lone.  Dey  ain't  done  nuttin.  I  cut  dat  braid 
an'  I  got  dat  braid  an'  I  ain't  gwine  ter  gin  'er  up.' 

"  Putty  soon  ole  Miss  Rabbit  sing  out  ergin — 

" '  Who  bin   cuttin'  de   bakin   (bacon)  fat  ?  '  sez  she,    *  an 


142  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

cuttin'  it  crookid,  too,'  sez  she.  'I  lay  I  des  leaf  de  breckfus 
an'  set  out  an'  git  dat  lim',  right  now,'  sez  she. 

"  (  No,  yo'  won't,'  sez  Ole  Rabbit,  sez  Je.  ( I  am'  gwine  ter 
hab  de  sense  w'ale  outen  dem  young  uns  o'  mine,  /tuck  dat 
fat  an'  I  got  dat  fat,  an'  ef  I  haggle  de  slice,  dat  my  look  out,' 
sez  'e.  '  I  paid  foh  hit,  an'  I  gwine  ter  cut  hit  wid  de  saw  ur 
scissuz,  ef  I  feel  lak  hit,'  sez  'e. 

11  Wid  dat  he  git  up  an'  walk  off,  limpetty  limp. 

"  Miss  Rabbit  ain't  see  no  mo'  un  'im  twell  sundown.  Den, 
he  come  in  lookin'  mighty  tuckehed  out,  but  des  a-grinnin' 
lak  er  bak  skunk.  He  sot  down,  he  did,  an'  et  lak  he  bin  holler 
(weary)  cl'ar  ter  he  toes,  but  he  won't  say  nuttin.  Wen  he  git 
thu,  he  sorter  stretch  hisse'f  and  say — 

"  *  I  gwine  ter  go  ter  baid.  I  gotter  heap  o'  sleep  ter  mek  up, 
an'  I  lay  no  dawg  ain'  gwine  ter  'sturb  my  res'  dis  night.' 

"  An'  dey  don't.  Dey  wuzzent  er  soun',  an'  Miss  Rabbit  mek 
er  gret  miration  at  dat  in  huh  mine,  but  she  ain't  got  nobody 
ter  tork  hit  unter,  twell  de  nex  mawnin',  w'en  Ole  Rabbit  git 
up  ez  gay  an'  sassy  ez  er  yeahlin'.  Den  he  hab  de  big  tale  ter 
tell,  an'  dis  wuz  wut  he  tell  'er  : — 

"  W'en  he  wuz  a-foolin'  in  de  cubberd,  he  git  'im  er  piece  o' 
braid,  an'  he  tie  dat  on  he  foot.  Den  he  cut  'im  er  slice  o' 
bakin  an'  he  putt  dat  on  top  de  braid.  Den  he  slip  on  he  shoe 
an'  staht  out.  Dat  he  do  kase  he  gwine  ter  fix  'im  some  shoe- 
braid  ("  shoe-bread  ")  foh  ter  feed  ter  dat  dawg,  kase  ef  yo' 
w'ar  braid  in  yo'  shoe  an'  den  gin  hit  unter  er  dawg,  an'  he 
eat  hit,  dat  dawg  yone  (is  yours).  He  gwine  ter  foller  yo'  ter 
de  eends  o'  de  yeath,  dat  he  am  !  Ole  Chuffy  putt  de  bakin 
(bacon)  on  ter  gin  dat  braid  er  good  tase,  an'  ter  fool  de  folks 
wut  see  'im,  kase  he  gwine  ter  let  on  lak  he  run  er  brier  in  he 
foot  an'  tuck  an'  putt  on  dat  bakin  foh  ter  dror  out  de  so'ness 
an'  kip  'im  fum  a-gittin'  de  lock-jaw. 

"  Well  ;  he  tromp  roun'  twell  de  w'ite  man  go  ter  de  fiel',  an' 
den  he  slip  up  sorter  easy-lak  an'  he  fling  dat  shoe-braid  a-front 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  143 

o'  dat  ole  houn'-dawg.  Hit  gulf  hit  down  in  des  one  swaller. 
Yo'  know  dem  houn'-dawgs  des  allus  bin  hongry  sence  de  minnit 
dey  wuz  bawn,  an'  yo'  kyarn't  fill  um  up  no  mo'n  ef  dey  got 
hole  in  um  de  same  ez  er  cullendeh. 

"  De  minnit  de  shoe-braid  bin  swaller  dat  ole  houn'-dawg  des 
natchelly  hone  arter  Ole  Rabbit.  He  tuck  out  arter  'im  thu 
de  bresh  so  swif  dat  hit  sorter  skeer  Old  Chuffy.  He  wuz  des 
a-studyin'  'bout  a-leadin'  dat  houn'  ter  de  crik  an'  a-tyin'  er 
rock  roun'  he  neck  an'  a-drowndin'  um,  but  dis  hyeah  turr'ble 
hurry  s'prise  'im  so  dat  he  des  run  lak  de  Ole  Boy  wuz  a-tryin' 
ter  ketch  'im.  Hyeah  dey  had  it  !  Up  hill  an'  down  holler, 
'crost  de  fiel'  an'  round  de  stump,  obeh 
an'  undeh,  roun'  an'  roun',  ketch  ef  yo' 
kin'  an'  foller  ef  you  kyarn't  !  Oh, 
suz,  dat  wuz  er  race  ! 

"  No  tellin'  how  hit  mought  a-come 
out  ef  Ole  Rabbit  hedn'  run  'crost  er 
Injun  man  wid  er  bow  an'  arrer. 

"  De  Injun  'gun  ter  fit  de  arrer  ter  de     "  DIS  HYEAH  TURR'BLE 
string  foh  ter  shoot  dat  Chuffy  Rabbit,     HURRY  S'PRISE  'IM  so'" 
w'en  he  holler  out  ez  loud  ez  he  c'd  holler  foh  de  shawtniss  ob 
her  bref — 

"  '  Oh  !  hole  on,  Misteh  Injun  Man,  hole  on  er  minit  !  Ise 
a-fetchin'  yo'  er  present,'  sez  'e — '  er  mighty  nice  present,'  sez  'e. 

"  '  Wut  yo'  fetch  ?  '  sez  de  Injun  Man,  kine  o'  s'pishis-lak. 

"  '  Hit's  er  dawg,'  sez  Ole  Rabbit,  a-wuhkin'  he  yeahs  an'  a- 
flinchin'  he  nose  kase  he  hyeah  dat  dawg  a-cracklin'  thu  de 
bresh,  '  er  mighty  nice  fat  dawg,  Misteh  Injun  Man.  I  hyeah 
tell  dat  yo'  ole  ooman  wuzpo'ly,  an'  I  was  a-brungin'  dis  hyeah 
houn'-dawg  so's  yo'  c'd  mek  er  stchew  outen  'im,'  sez  'e.  ( I'd 
a-fotch  um  ready  cook,'  sez  'e,  'but  my  ole  ooman,  she  des 
nowhurs  'long  o'  yone  in  de  mekin'  o'  stchews,'  sez  'e.  '  I 
wuz  foh  fetchin'  er  string  o'  inguns  foh  seas'nin',  an'  den  I  don't 
know  ef  yo'  lak  um  wid  inguns,'  sez  'e. 


144  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  De  Tnjun  suttinly  wuz  tickle  wid  dat  lallygag  (humbug)  but 
he  don't  say  much.  He  des  sorter  grunt  an'  look  todes  de  bresh. 

" '  Dat  um  !  Dat  my  houn'-dawg  a-comm'  ! '  say  Ole  Rabbit, 
a-flinchin'  mo'  an'  mo'  ez  de  cracklin'  come  a-nigheh.  '  Yo' 
betteh  shoot  um,  Misteh  Injun,  des  ez  'e  bounce  out  o'  de 
bresh,  kase  dat  am  er  mons'us  shy  dawg,  mons'us  shy  !  Hit 
won'  foller  nobody  but  me,  an'  I  kyarn'  go  'long  home  wid  yor 
an'  tek  um  kase  Ise  lame.  Las'  night  I  couldn't  sleep,  my 
lef'-han'-hine-foot  huht  me  so,  an'  now  I  got  um  tie  up  in 
bakin'  fat.  Shoot  um  right  hyeah,  Misteh  Injun !  Dat  de 
bes'  an'  de  safes',  mon  ! ' 

"  Des  dat  minnit  out  jump  de  dawg  an' — zim  ! — Misteh 
Injun  des  shoot  um  an'  pin  um  ter  de  groun'. 

*'  Den  Ole  Man  Rabbit  mop  de  sweat  offen  he  face  an'  lope 
off  home — leas'  dat  de  tale  he  tell  de  fambly,  an'  ef  'tain't  de 
troof,  nobody  ain'  n'nyin'  hit  (no  one  denies  it),  dese  days,  anr 
ez  he  say  ter  he  ole  ooman,  hit  er  good  laughin'  tale  terday, 
but  hit  mighty  sollumcholly  yistiddy,  w'en  'twuz  gwine  on." 

"  Now,  de  mos'  cu'i's  paht  (curious  part)  ob  all  dis,"  con- 
tinued Granny,  "  am  dat  sence  dat  day  all  de  dawgs  ack  lak  dey 
sholy  cunjered.  Ef  dey  enny  un  um  des  ez  much  ez  ketch  er 
gimpse  ob  er  rabbit-tail  dey  des  putt  out  arter  hit  lak  de  Ole 
Boy  a-sickin'  (driving)  um  on." 

"  Dat  wuz  sholy  cunjered  braid,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  with  con- 
viction, "  ur  (but)  hit  don't  wuhk  dat  quick.  Yo'  hatter  w'ar 
braid  in  yo'  shoe  mo'  longeh'n  dat,  urrways." 

"  Yo'  des  hattei  w'ar  de  braid  twell  yo'  strenk  go  inter  hit, 
so's  w'en  de  dawg  s waller  hit,  he  swaller  de  tase  o'  yo'.  In  co'se, 
de  strenk  ob  Ole  Rabbit  go  in  mighty  quick." 

"  Dat  de  troof,  Aunt  Jinny.  I  tek  dat  back  wut  I  say  I 
Lan'  !  Ian* !  wut  don'  yo'  know  !  " 

"  I  dunno  dat  fine  tale  o'  yone  'bout  Rabbit  an'  de  gopheh 
ez  good  ez  I  wanter,  Aunt  Em'ly.  Ef  yo'  tell  hit  now,  so  dat 
I  git  de  good  un  um  ergin,  an'  HI  missey  git  de  satisfackshin 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  145 

un  urn  too,  I  reckin  I  putt  in  de  time  a-roas'in'  dis  hyeah  pan 
ob  coffee-beans  in  de  hot  ashes." 

"  Coffee-beans  des  fit  my  mouf,  dis  night,  Aunt  Jinny. 
Come  in  Aunt  Em'ly'  lap,  honey,  w'iles  I  tell  yo'  dat  tale  o' 
Rabbit  and  Gopheh.  Aunt  Jinny,  dat  'mine  (reminds)  me — is 
yo'  got  enny  ob  dem  lil  choke-tatehs  dat  yof  c'd  roas'  at  de  same 
time  yo'  foolin'  wid  de  coffee-beans  ?  " 

"  Dat  I  is,  an*  hyeah  dey  is  !  "  cried  Granny,  dragging  a 
small  bag  of  tubers  from  among  the  bandboxes  under  her  bed. 

The  choke-taters  or  artichokes,  (not  the  green  vegetable 
rosettes  served  to  "  white  folks,"  but  the  tubers  of  the  great 
"  Jerusalem  sunflowers  "  that  come,  at  Nature's  bidding,  beside 
the  country  road)  were  buried  in  the  ashes,  at  a  safe  distance 
from  the  popping  coffee-beans,  before  Aunt  Em'ly  could  give 
her  mind  to  the  tale.  Finally,  she  said — 

"  'Twuz  dishaways,  honey'  'bout  gittin'  de  truck  Gopheh  lay 
up  foh  cole  weddeh.  Ole  Rabbit,  he  putt  in  de  summeh  time 
des  lak  de  worl'  wuz  hissen  ;  he  wuz  a-cuttin'  roun'  hyeah  an' 
yon,  in  de  bresh  an'  out  ergin,  sassin'  de  boys  an'  settin'  up  ter 
de  gals,  an'  a-perawdin'  eroun  whahsomedevveh  dey  wuz  enny 
debbilmint  gwine  on.  He  ain't  do  er  lick  ob  wuhk,  he  ain't  lay 
by  ez  much  ez  er  bastet  (basket)  ob  leabes  ter  mek  er  sallet 
(salad),  no  suh !  an*  w'en  he  ole  ooman  'mine  'im  o'  dat,  he  des 
bat  he  eye  lak  he  'mos'  a-drappin'  off  ter  sleep  an'  say — 

"  *  Don't  pesteh  er  sma't  man  dat  yo'  got  de  luck  ter  hab  foh 
yo'  ole  man  wid  fool  queschins,  ole  ooman.  I  got  er  heap  o' 
folks  out  a-wuhkin'  foh  my  libbin'.  Dey  fetch  me  in  de  crap 
w'en  de  right  time  come.' 

"  W'en  she  git  oneasy  'gin  an'  say  she  ain't  see  nobody 
wuhkin',  ceppin'  foh  deyse'f,  an'  nobody  ain'  fetch  in  nuttin 
ter  de  sulleh  (cellar),  an'  de  fros'  a-comin'  on  an'  de  greens  'bout 
ter  gin  out,  an'  whah  is  dat  crap,  she  wanter  know,  he  des 
hunch  up  he  shouldehs  an'  lay  back  he  yeahs  an'  sing  out  dat 
aggravaxin'  way  he  got — 

ii 


146  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  *  Ax  me  no  queschins,  I  tell  yo'  no  lies.  But  I  know  whah 
dey's  good  vittles  foh  er  man  'bout  my  size.' 

"  Wid  dat  he  go  a-skippin'  down  de  lane  todes  de  bresh- 
patch,  whah  er  passel  ob  he  kinfolks  wuz  'semmle  ter  pass  de 
time  axin'  one  nurr  puzzlemznts  (riddles),  an'  a-tellin'  tales  an' 
a-r'arin'  an'  a-tusslin'  an'  a-raisin'  de  Ole  Boy  gin'ly  wid  dey 
laffin'  an'  gigglemints  an'  kyarin'  on.  So  he  do  all  de  time,  an' 
de  days  pass  by,  an'  de  nights  gun  ter  git  sorter  cool  foh  de 
quiltkivvehs,  an'  de  nuts  fall  down  'pun  de  daid  grass  an'  de 
leabes  come  a-russlin'  'pun  top  un  um  an'  de  jays  holler  an' 
scream  lak  dey  t'ink  de  sumac-bushes  afiah,  sho  nuff. 

"  Den  de  ole  ooman  ax  'im  'gin — 

"'Is  dem  pussons  a-wuhkin'  foh  yo'  yit  ?  Kase  ef  dey  is,' 
sez  she,  ( I  reckin  dey  got  de  crap  mek  long  'fo'  now,  an'  I 
wisht  dey  git  um  in  de  sulleh  'fo'  de  fros'  spile  um.' 

"  He  des  wink  an'  grin  an'  go  off  a-visitin'  he  kinfolks,  ur 
kick  up  he  heels  mungs  de  leabes. 

"  Den  de  sun  look  lak  er  big  ball  o'  fiah  an'  de  a'r  wuz  full 
ob  smoke  fum  nowhurs,  des  ez  ef  de  whole  yeath  wuz  lick  up 
in  er  turr'ble  big  perarer-fiah,  an'  de  leabes,  dey  wuz  mos'  all 
down  an'  de  nuts  sorter  sink  in  de  groun',  lak  dey  good  noshin 
ter  plant  deyse'fs,  an'  de  weeds  in  de  fence-corndehs  an'  'long 
de  aige  ob  de  lane  go,  '  rittle-rattle,  rittle-rattle  '  in  de  win,'  lak 
de  bones  ob  er  las'  Crismus  tucky. 

"  Den  de  ole  ooman,  she  up  an  say — 

"  '  De  watteh  des  a-dribblin'  outen  de  corndehs  ob  my  mouf, 
I  a-honm'  so  arter  dem  good  vittles  dem  pussons  am  a-gittin' 
for  yo'.  I  wisht,  Misteh  Rabbit,  dat  yo'  tell  um  ter  fetch  me 
er  tase,  dis  blessid  day.  I  kyarn't  hole  out  much  longeh,  I 
cross  my  haht  on  dat.' 

41 *"  Den  hole  in '  (restrain  yourself),  sez  'e,  (  dat  am  des  wut  I 
sot  out  ter  lahn  (learn)  yo',  ole  ooman,'  sez  'e,  a-kickin'  up  he 
heels  an'  a-clippin'  down  de  lane,  samer  he  bin  a-doin'  all  de  time. 

"  Bimeby,  Ole  Jack  Pros',  he  come  ter  stay.     Hit  time  ter 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  147 

git  out  blankit-kivvehs  foh  de  baid  an'  flannin-petticuts  foh  de 
chilluns  ;  hit  time  foh  punkin-sass  an'  roas'  'possum  wid  'coon 
gravy  ;  hit  time  ter  git  out  de  zerves  (preserves)  an'  putt  by  de 
watteh-million  ;  hit  time  ter  lay  by  de  mint-julip  an'  git  out 
de  aig-nogg  ;  time  ter  lay  by  de  fried  chicken  an'  git  out  de 
pot-pie  ;  time  ter  lay  by  de  peach-cobbler  an'  git  out  de  apple- 
dumplin'  ;  time  ter  lay  by  de  roas'in'-yeah  an'  git  out  de  ash- 
cake  ;  time  ter  lay  by  de  roas'  pig  an'  git  out  de  sassidge  an' 
chine  ;  time  ter  lay  by  de  churry-tart  an'  git  out  de  mince-pie ; 
time  ter  quit  de  br'ile  buhd  an'  git  out  de  bake  shoat  ;  time 
ter » 

"  Foh  de  Lawd  sake,  Aunt  Em'ly,  stop  dat !  Ef  yo'  go  on 
dataway,  I  sholy  pe'sh  wid  hongeh,  I  shill  dat !  I  des  ready  ter 
drap  spang  offen  dis  hyeah  cheer,  now  !  "  cried  Aunt  Mary. 

Aunt  Em'ly  was  greatly  gratified  by  this  tribute  to  her 
descriptive  powers.  She  smiled,  bridled,  and  came  very  near 
breaking  into  an  undignified  guffaw,  but  contrived  to  check 
that  unworthy  manifestation  of  elation,  and  continued,  with 
quiet  dignity — 

"  'Bout  dat  time  hit  'gun  ter  look  ter  Ole  Man  Rabbit 
hisse'f  dat  ef  he  don't  want  win'-pie  (wind-pie)  an'  watteh-pud- 
din'  foh  he  reg'leh  meals,  he  betteh  be  a-stirrin'  roun'.  Wen 
he  git  dat  thu  he  ha'r,  he  tuck  er  day  ur  two  foh  a-kynsidehin', 
an'  he  w'ar  he  studyin'  cap  all  de  time  o'  dat  time.  He  study 
an'  study,  but  dat  ain'  hendeh  dat  w'en  he  a-santerin'  roun'  de 
fiel's  an'  lanes  he  see  all  dat  gwine  on.  He  ain't  de  one  dat 
miss  nuttin,  Ole  Rabbit  ain't.  He  ain't  lak  dem  folkses  dat 
gotter  rock  deyse'f  in  de  rockin'-cheer  wid  dey  eyes  shet  w'en 
dey  a-wuhkin'  dey  mines  (thinking),  dat  he  ain't !  He  SEE, 
an'  he  see  wut  he  gwine  ter  fetch  outen  wut  he  see.  All  dat 
he  see  mek  fat  foh  Ole  Chuffy'  ribs,  in  co'se  hit  do  ! 

"  In  de  airly  mawnin',  w'en  de  fros'  wuz  w'ite  on  de  stubble 
an'  de  hemp-stalks,  an'  de  sun  seem  mighty  slow  'bout  gittin* 
'bove  de  tree  tops,  he  sot  out  ter  look  et  de  young  orchahd  dat 


148  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO, 

er  mon  'e  know  sot  out,  las'  yeah.  He  look  long  an*  he  look 
hahd. 

"  '  Uh-huh  !  '  he  say  ter  dem  spin'lin'  young  trees,  *  yo'  am* 
no  'count  foh  raisin'  apples,  fur  ez  I  kin  see.  I  reck'n  him  dat 
sot  yo'  out  am  mighty  dis'p'inted  wid  yo',  but  de  leabins  ob 
one  am  de  sass  ob  nurr.  Yo'  am  a-suitin'  me  mighty  well,  dis 
minnit.  I  ain't  keer  none  foh  apples,  but  I  ain't  turn  up  my 
nose  at  bahk  (bark),  ef  hit  sweet  an'  good,  an'  yo'  am  dat,  I 
boun*.  Shoh  !  I  des  ez  well  satify  ez  ef  yo'  wuz  set  out 
a-puppus  ter  raise  bahk.' 

"  Wid  dat  he  fall  ter  wuhk  an'  git  er  good  big  bite  o'  dat 
bahk  in  he  mouf.  Wooh  1  p-t-t !  s-s-spit ! — dat  bahk  ez 
bitteh  ez  duck's  gall." 

"  Duck's  gall  am  good  foh  de  so'  (sore)  eyes.  'Taint  no 
'count  on  trees,"  interrupted  Aunt  Mymee. 

"  Dat  so,  Aunt  Mymee.  I  ain'  'spute  yo'  none  on  dat,  but 
dat  stuff  on  dem  trees  des  ony  (just  only)  tase  dataway.  Hit  wuz 
warnit  (walnut)  juice  dey  got  on  um.  Somebody  bin  a-doctehin^ 
dem  trees  des  ter  keep  de  varmints  fum  a-gnawin'  um.  Dat 
wut  Ole  Rabbit  know  too,  an'  dat  wut  mek  'im  so  mad. 

" { Hit's  er  mighty  mean  man  dat'll  go  an'  dob  up  er  good 
tree  dataway,'  sez  Ole  Rabbit,  sez  'e,  an'  wid  dat,  he  des  bust 
fo'th  an'  free  he  mine  'bout  de  man  dat  'u'd  do  sech  er  mean, 
low-down  trick.  Oh,  he  des  went  on  1  dough  dey  wuzzent 
nobody  ceppin  he  own  se'f  a-lissenin'. 

"  Bimeby,  he  git  out  o'  bref  an'  gin  dat  up.  Hit  mighty 
satifyin'  ter  de  feelins  ter  'buse  de  meanness  o'  folks,  but  'tain't 
fillin'  none  ter  de  stummick.  Dat  wut  Ole  Chuffy  fine,  an*  he 
'bleege  ter  look  roun'  an'  ketch  up  er  breckfus  somers  else. 
He  peek  an'  he  poke  an'  he  don't  see  nuttin.  He  go  'long 
todes  de  eend  ob  de  orchahd  twell  he  come  in  sight  o'  de  buck- 
wheat fiel',  but  he  don't  go  dar,  he  know  mo'n  dat.  He  des 
go  a-lookin'  roun'  mungs  de  HI  hills  o'  fresh  dut  (dirt)  lak  he 
t'ink  he  los'  sump'n  dat  he  gwine  ter  fine  dar." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  149 

"  Mebbe,"  interrupted  Aunt  Mymee,  again,  "  he  wuz  gwine 
ter  eat  some  o'  dat  duht  dat  wuz  flung  up  by  de  gophehs. 
Gopheh-duht  mighty  good  ef  yo'  got  de  misery  in  de  stummick, 
mo'  speshul,  ef  yo'  feel  squawmish." 

Granny  elevated  her  eyebrows,  but  said  nothing.  She 
heartily  despised  a  dirt-eater. 

"  Uh  huh !  "  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  partly  agreeing,  "  Ise  allus 
hyurn  tell  dat  duht  am  good  foh  de  watteh-brash  an'  de  likes, 
but  dat  wuzzent  wut  Ole  Rabbit  up  ter.  He  got  de  sinkin'  in 
de  stummick,  to-be-sho,  but  vittles  de  dose  ter  fetch  dat  up. 
Wen  he  wuz  at  de  HI  hills,  he  sniff  an'  he  snuff.  Bimeby,  he 
go  up  ter  un  un  um  (of  them)  an'  he  tek  up  lil  ob  de  duht  an* 
feel  ef  'twuz  wa'm. 

"  Hit  wuz  wa'm  !  hit  wuz  brack  duht,  kase  it  wuz  mighty 
new  good  Ian',  an'  hit  wuz  ez  mealy  ez  one  o'  dem  tatehs  on  de 
h'a'th  dar,  an' — hit — wuz — wa'm  / 

"  <  Hi ! '  sez  Ole  Rabbit,  sez  he,  (  wut  de  matteh  now  ?  Ole 
Gopheh,  he's  a-diggin'  he  sulleh,  deep,  diggin*  dis  late  in  de 
season  an'  dis  airly  in  de  mawnin'.  Mighty  quare,  dat  am, 
mighty  quare  !  Wut  in  de  name  o'  common  sense  an'  wunner, 
he  doin'  dat  foh  ?  at  dis  time  de  yeah,  too  !  I  'low  I  ain't 
dat  sot  (so  intent  on)  arter  breckfus  dat  I  ain'  got  de  time  ter 
stop  an'  eenquieh  'bout  hit.' 

"  Den  he  up  an'  go  ahine  de  gopheh-hill — dat  des  wut  dat 
lil  hill  wuz,  er  gopheh-hill  at  de  do'  ob  Ole  Gopheh's  house, 
whah  he  fling  out  de  duht  w'en  he  dig  de  sulleh.  Wen  he 
go  dar,  he  knock  an'  he  knock,  Ole  Rabbit  do,  he  knock  wunst 
an'  twiste  an'  den  so  fas'  dat  yo'  kyarn't  count. 

"  Nobody  say  nuttin. 

"  Den  he  holler  out — 

"  <  Hyo  dar  !  hyo  ! '  sez  'e.  *  Come  ter  de  do*.  'Tain't  no 
skunk,  nur  weasel,  nur  dawg,  nur  wile  cat  dat  am  a-knockin*. 
Hit's  me,  Misteh  Gopheh,  Ole  Man  Rabbit,  a-drappin'  in  foh 
er  fr'en'ly  call." 


150  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Wid  dat  Ole  Gopheh,  he  stick  he  haid  out  an'  say, 
sorter  pleasant  an'  sorter  sheepy — 

"  '  'Scuse  me,  Misteh  Rabbit,  dat  I  ain'  hyeah  yo'  at  de  fust. 
Ise  dat  muddle  up  in  my  wuhk  dat  I  kyarn'  skuse  hyeah 
nuttin.  All  de  same,  now  dat  I  do  hyeah  yo,  Ise  mighty  glad 
ter  see  yo',  dough  I  mighty  'shame  dat  I  kyarn't  ax  you  in, 
but  de  front  entry  all  clutteh  up  wid  trash  so  yo'  kyarn't 
git  thu.' 

" '  I  des  ez  lives  set  out  hyeah  in  de  fresh  a'r,"  sez  Ole  Man 
Rabbit,  (  dat  am,  ef  yo'  got  de  time  ter  chat.  If  Ise  a-hendrin 
yo'  dough,  des  say  de  wuhd  an'  I  tek  myse'f  off,  dat  quick  ! ' 

u  Wen  Ole  Rab  say  dat,  he  yuck  (jerked)  he  hine  foot, 
quicker'n  wink. 

44 '  Oh  !  yo'  ain't  hendeh  me  none,'  say  Gopheh,  spittin'  out 
de  duht  fum  he  jaws  onter  de  pile.  '  I  wuz  des  fix  ter  come  up 
wid  dis  load.  Ise  proud  ter  hab  yo'  hyeah.  De  sight  o'  yo' 
am  good  foh  so'e  eyes  an'  de  soun'  o'  yo'  am  good  foh  de  weak 
chist.  Yo'  fetch  so  much  news  w'en  yo'  come  round,  hit 
mighty  'livenin'  ter  slow,  hahd-wuckin'  folks,  Misteh  Rabbit.' 

u<-Ise  er  wuckin'  mon  my  own  se'f,  suh,'  sez  Ole  Rabbit, 
sez  'e,  a-lookin'  ez  ef  he  feelin's  wuz  huht.  '  Ise  bin  a-layin'  in 
er  big  crap  dis  yeah — too  big,  in  facks — I  ain't  got  de  sulleh 
room  dat  I  a-needin'.  I  ain't  no  diggeh  lak  yo'se'f ;  ef  I  staht 
a-diggin'  now,  I  ain't  gwine  ter  git  dat  sulleh  done  twell  nex 
surnmeh,  an'  den  wut  de  use  ob  er  sulleh  ?  ' 

"  At  dat  Gopheh,  he  cock  up  he  yeah  an'  look  lak  he  hyeah 
de  good  news,  but  he  ain't  say  nuttin  much. 

Ui  I  git  ahine-han's  de  same  way  my  own  se'f,1  sez  'e,  *  dat 
w'y  I  a-diggin'  w'en  by  de  good  rights  I  otter  be  in  baid.' 

"  *  I  hates  mighty  bad  ter  loose  dem  roots,"  sez  Ole  Rab, 
sorter  to  hisse'f,  '  but  I  reckin  day  ain't  no  hep  foh  hit.  I  don't 
need  um  an'  I  ain't  got  de  sulleh  room  foh  um,  but  Ian'  !  I 
hates  ter  see  sech  good  vittles  run  ter  wase.' 

"  *  Well  1  '  sez  Ole  Gopheh,   sez    'e,   sorter  a-bustin'  in   on 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


de  remocks  (remarks),  '  Misteh  Rabbit,  mebbe  I  kin  kommer- 
date  yo'  some.' 

"  *  I  thot  yo'  wuz  a-namin'  dat  yo'  so  crowded  dat  yo' 
a-bildin'  mo'  sulleh,'  sez  Old  Rabbit,  kinder  jubous-lak)  an' 
a-scratchin'  he  haid  lak  he  a-scratchin'  foh  news  ter  come  out. 

"  '  Oh  !  '  sez  Gopheh,  sez  'e,  '  I  des  needs  'bout  so  much,  an' 
ef  yo'  roots  so  turr'ble  fine,  I  reckin  I  kin  fling  out  some  o'  dese 
I  got  an'  fill  in  yone.' 

"  ( Lemme  see  dem  wut  yo'  got,'  sez  Ole  Rabbit,  a-lookin' 
mighty  sollum  an'  slow.  'Mebbe  dem  des  ez 
good  ez  de  ones  I  got,'  sez  'e,  'dough,  to-be-sho, 
dat  mighty  onlikely,  kase  I  riz  dese  ob  mine  my 
own  se'f,  Misteh  Gopheh,  and,  de  Lawd  know! 
I  tuck  er  heap  o'  trouble.  Howsomedevveh, 
ef  yo'll  han'  me  one  ob  yone,  I  kin  gin  hit  er 
tas'e,  an'  den  I  know  how  ter  'vise  yo'.' 

"  Soon  ez  de  wudh  said,  Gopheh,  he  des 
splunge  down  in  de  sulleh  an'  run  up  ergin  wid 
er  big  calamus  root  in  one  han'  an'er  whole 
heap  o'  de  tendes'  (tenderest)  kine  o'  lil  w'ite 
shoots  in  turr. 

"  Ole  Rabbit,  he  des  skuse  kin  keep  fum  a- 
grabbin'  um,  he  so  wuhkt  up  at  de  sight  o'  vittles, 
an'  all  the  time  he  stummick  des  a-ringin'  de 
dinneh  bell  wid  bofe  han's.  He  mek  out  ter  hole  hisse'f  study 
dough,  an'  he  tek  de  calamus  an'  he  tek  de  shoots  an'  he 
nibble  an'  tase,  nibble  an'  tase,  w'les  he  shake  de  haid  an' 
look  way  out  in  de  a'r  lak  de  docteh  w'en  he  kyarn't  mek 
out  ef  de  baby  got  de  measles  ur  mos'  et  up  wid  de  fleas. 
He  keep  on  lak  dat,  he  do,  twell  he  des  nibble  de  whole 
passel  out  o'  sight.  Den  he  gib  he  haid  one  las'  big  shake, 
lak  he  hab  heap  o'  pity  foh  Gopheh.  Den  he  pick  er  crum' 
ur  two  outen  he  whiskehs  an'  say — 

"  '  My  fren,  I  ain't  de  one  dat  gwine  ter  'ceive  you,  dough 


OLE   RABBIT 
REFLECTS. 


152 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


de  Lawd  know  !  I  hates  lak  pizon  ter  huht  yo'  feelin's  an' 
dis'pint  yo'  ;  dem  roots  ain't  lak  de  ones  I  got,  no  mo'  dey  ain't.' 

At  dat  Gopheh,  he  wuz  des  all  struck  ob  er  heap.  He  'spise 
he  winteh  truck  so  dat  hit  don't  seem  no  mo'  'count  den  de  dry 
weeds  in  de  fence  corndeh. 

"  Ole  Rabbit,  he  look  at  'im  mighty  kine. 

"  '  Is  yo'  got  sumpin  else  ?  '  sez  'e,  a-smilin'  sorter  tiahd-lak  ' 
(as  if  tired). 

" l  I'm  got  er  few  tatehs   an'   goobeh-peas  an'   er  gob   o* 


OLE    RABBIT  AND   MISTEH   GOPHEH. 

bummle-bee  honey,'  sez  Gopheh,  sorter  hangin'  back  wid  de 
wuhds,  lak  he  mos'  shame  ter  let  um  out.' 

"  Hyeahin'  o'  dem  t'ings  mos'  kill  Ole  Rabbit,  but  sence  he 
git  fill  up  in  de  corndehs  wid  dem  w'ite  shoots  an'  calamus, 
he  c'd  stan'  hit  betteh  w'en  de  chat  run  on  vittles,  so  he  look 
sorter  mighty  an'  toss  up  he  chin  an'  wuhk  he  nose  an'  cl'ar  he 
tho'at,  lak  de  namin'  o'  dem  common  vittles  mek  'im  sorter 
kintempshis,  an'  he  say — 

"  '  Uh-huh  !  ef  yo'  satisfy,  dat  all  right,  but  ef  yo'  ain't,  an' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  153 

yo'mine  ter  tek  de  trouble,  w'en  de  day  git  mo'  'long  todes  noon, 
w'en  hit  mo'  mile  (warmer),  yo'  kin  fetch  in  some  o'  my  truck.' 

"  Seem  ter  Gopheh  lak  he  dis  pe'sh  (perish)  out,  ef  he  don't 
git  some  o'  dat  truck,  so  he  up  an'  say,  'T'anky,  t'anky,  Nabeh 
Rabbit',  mighty  ferce  (fierce — eagerly),  an'  he  gin  ter  th'ow  out 
de  truck  he  got  in  de  sulleh,  right  off.  Den  him  an'  Ole 
Rabbit  mek  de  'greement  dat  w'en  de  sulleh  all  cl'ar  out,  den 
dat  Ole  Rab  gwine  ter  show  'im  de  way  ter  de  truck-patch. 
Arter  dat  dey  shake  de  han'  pun  de  bawgin  an'  Ole  Rabbit 
'low  he  'bleeged  ter  go  'long  home,  kase  Miss  Rabbit,  she 
gittin'  sumpin  fine  foh  dinneh  ter  sorter  sample  de  goods  ( fo  ' 
dey  lay  um  by. 

4<  Wid  dat  sesso  (saying),  out  he  putt,  but  he  ain't  go  home. 
Wut  de  use,  I  wanter  know  ?  Dey  ain't  no  pot  a-bilin'  in  he 
house  dat  day.  He  des  tellin'  dem  owdashus  lies  ter  git  Gopheh 
all  tore  up  in  he  mine,  an'  he  done  hit  too  !  Stiddiergoin'  home, 
he  go  down  by  de  crick  ter  whah  de  bank  crummle  off  an'  de 
watteh  wash  de  roots  ob  the  weeds  and  briehs  out.  He  lop  off 
heap  o'  dem  roots,  an'  he  go  an'  pile  um  up  in  er  big  pile  out 
in  er  fiel'.  Den  he  git  er  grV  big  lot  ob  wilier-trigs  an'  one 
trash  an'  nurr,  an'  he  pile  dem  on  too.  Den  he  lope  back  an' 
ax  Gopheh  will  he  come  'long,  kase  now  he  thu  he  big  dinneh, 
he  ain't  got  er  libbin'  t'ing  ter  do,  ceppin'  ter  he'p  he  frens,  an' 
dat  suttingly  am  er  pledger  stiddier  (a  pleasure  instead  of)  er 
bodder  ter  er  fr'en'ly  man.  Den  he  run  on  an'  say — 

" '  Hit  do  me  good,  too,  ter  hab  de  stirrin'  roun',  kase  I  des 
knows  I  mek  er  pig  outen  myse'f,  de  dinneh  wuz  dat  good  an' 
I  dat  proud  dat  I  raise  um  myse'f.' 

"Dar  now  !  'tain't  no  use  ter  tell  all  de  speechifyin'  dat  pass 
back  an'  fo'th  'twixt  um.  I  gwine  ter  cut  dat  tale  shawt  an' 
come  in  'pun  de  eend  ob  it.  Ole  Rabbit,  he  tuck  an'  tuck 
Gopheh  an'  show  'im  dat  pile  o'  rubbige  an'  he  sez,  sez  'e, 
a-smilin'  all  de  time  an'  a-svvellin'  out  he  buzzom — 

"  *  Hyeah  'tis,  nabeh  !     I  done  sot  him  out  an'  wuhkt  hit  an' 


154  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

lay  hit  by  my  ownse'f,  so  I  knows  des  wut  yo'  a-gittin',  but  ef 
yo'  ain't  sati'fy  wid  my  sesso,  des  set  down  an'  try  er  hunk  o' 
sumpin.' 

"  Gopheh,  he  wuz  a-winkin'  an'  a-blinkin'  in  de  sun  twell  he 
couldn'  tell  er  tateh  mm  er  toadstool,  and,  sidesen  dat,  he  got 
er  putty  good  staht  foh  er  bad  cole  an'  hit  gwine  ter  git  wuss, 
ef  he  stay  out  in  de  fros',  so  he  say. 

"  *  Nemmine  de  tasin'  des  now,  my  deah  Misteh  Rabbit,  I 
tek  yo'  wuhd  foh  hit.  I  'low  yo'  know  de  tase  ob  Sunday 
vittles,  ef  ennybody  do.  I  des  wuhk  now  an'  tase  toreckly.' 

"Wid  dat  dey  bofe  sot  ter  wuhk,  Ole  Rabbit  a-he'pin' 
(helping)  lak  er  fine  felleh. 

"  Wen  dey  tuck  in  de  fust  load,  Gopheh,  he  'low  he  tek  um 
down  sulleh  hisse'f. 

"  *  All  fa'r  an'  squar','  sez  Ole  Rabbit,  sez  'e,  a-tuhnin'  he 
back  an'  a-stuffin'  he  hankercher  in  he  mouf  ter  keep  mm 
a-bustin'  out  a-laffin. 

"  Wen  he  sottle  down  fum  dem  highstrikes  (his  excitement), 
he  tuhn  roun'  an'  say — 

"  '  Wiles  yo'  down  dar,  I  kin  cl'ar  up  de  rubbige  out  hyeah.' 

"  Wid  dat  he  grab  up  er  yarmful  ob  dem  nice  sweet  roots 
an'  goobehs  an'  out  he  git  an'  hide  um  in  de  bresh  nigh  home. 

"  Den  w'en  he  git  back,  he  sing  out,  (  Am  yo'  ready  foh  nurr 
load,  nabeh  ?  ' 

"  Gopheh,  he  pop  out  he  fool  haid  and  say,  *  Yessuh.' 

"  Den  back  dey  go,  in  co'se,  an'  dey  kip  up  dat  foolishness 
twell  sundown,  an'  den  hit  too  cool  foh  Gopheh  ter  stay  out 
o'  do's.  He  'low,  dough,  dat  he  gwine  ter  git  one  mo'  load 
in  de  mawin',  ef  de  day  tuhn  out  fine. 

"'All  ri',  des  suit  yo'se'f,  an  yo'  suit  me,'  sez  Rabbit,  an' 
wid  dat  he  lope  off  home  an'  'low  ter  de  ole  ooman  an'  de 
chilluns  dey  betteh  camp  in  de  brier-patch  dat  night  an'  de  nex 
day,  kase  de  houn's  wuz  out. 

"  Dey  mo'n  willin'  ter  go  w'en  dey  hyeah  dat,  an'  dey  mo'n 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


155 


1 56 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


willin'  ter  say  w'en  dey  ketch  sight  ob  Gopheh's  truck  in  dar." 
"What  did  Gopher  do  when  he  tasted  what  Rabbit  gave 
him  ?  "  interrupted  the  child,  eagerly. 

"  Ole  Gopheh  ?  Huh  1  he  season  he  suppeh  wid  cuss-wuhds, 
dat  night,  sholy,  but  e'en  dat  don't  mek  dat  ole  stuff  go  down 
easy  an'  stay  dar.  He  set  up  wid  hisse'f  mos'  all  night,  an'  all 
de  time  he  wuz  a-layin'  off  ter  lam  dat  ole  vilyun  ob  er  Rabbit 
ter  frazzles.  Wy,  honey,  he  dat  outdone  dat  w'en  he  drap  off 
ter  sleep,  'long  todes  mawnin',  he  dremp  he  cut  Ole  Rabbit's 
tho'at." 


OLE    RABBIT   AND    HIS    WIFE. 


"  Oh,  Aunt  Emily,  did  he  do  it  ?  " 

"  Tee-hee  !  Not  ez  Ole  Rabbit  hyeah  tell  urn.  De  nex 
mawnin'  hit  wuz  a-rainin'  dat  sorter  onstudy  rain  dat  flap 
shuttehs  an'  fling  de  daid  leabes  eroun',  an'  de  nex  night  hit 
friz  ter  stay,  so  Gopheh  don't  git  out  ter  do  no  sottlin'-up. 

"  Ole  Rab,  he  git  back  de  respec'  ob  he  ole  ooman  an'  brag 
on  hisse'f  might'ly  'fo'  de  chilluns,  but  I  done  hyeah  tell  dat 
hit  wuz  er  mighty  lean  gopheh  dat  corned  out  en  de  hill  in  de 
aige  ob  de  orchard  on  de  side  nex'  de  buckwheat-fiel',  de  spring 
a-follerinV' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  157 

The  tale  of  Rabbit's  rascality  was  received  with  an  undue 
amount  of  laughter  and  applause,  which,  however,  was  suddenly 
suppressed  by  Granny  stating  emphatically,  that  when  she  had 
"  mos'  wo'  out  de  marrer-bones  cookin'  choke-tatehs  an*  coffee- 
beans  "  she  did  not  propose  to  have  them  u  ruinated"  H  wiles 
er  passel  ob  folks  gin  deyse'fs  up  ter  de  haw-haws  (laughter)." 

This  remark  was  construed  as  an  invitation  to  partake  of 
light  refreshment  ;  so  the  "  haw-haws  "  came  to  an  abrupt 
ending  and  every  one  seriously  addressed  herself  to  showing 
her  appreciation  of  Granny's  little  vegetable  roasts.  Tow 
Head,  in  particular,  distinguished  herself  as  a  trencher-maid. 
She  never  had  been  able  to  make  up  her  mind  which  she 
preferred,  the  beans  or  the  artichokes,  so  she  ate  impartially 
of  both,  without  a  thought  of  her  mother's  hygienic  rules  and 
regulations. 

"  Isn't  it  strange,  Granny,"  she  said,  leaning  back  against 
her  friend  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  "  that  some  people  do  not 
know  that  you  must  roast  coffee-beans  till  they  pop,  else  they'll 
be  bitter  and  poisonous  and  make  you  very  sick  ?  The  new 
people  in  the  red  house  on  the  hill  never  heard  of  them  till  I 
told  them,  and  then  they  decided  they  were  a  kind  of  chestnut, 
and  so  they  ate  some  raw  and  were  awful  sick." 

Everybody  looked  serious.  Not  from  sympathy,  however. 
No  doubt  such  ignorant  people  were  '*  half-strainers  "  and  not 
fit  for  association  with  the  "  quality  "  families. 

"  They  did  not  know  artichokes  either,"  pursued  Tow  Head, 
"  till  I  'splained  they  were  the  other  end  of  sunflowers,  and 
then  the  old  lady  said  it  was  nice  that  they  were  good  to  look 
at,  good  to  eat,  and  good  to  burn  when  they  were  dry." 

"  De  seeds  mek  good  ile,  an'  dat  ile  mos'  ez  good  foh  croup 
ez  goose-grease,  dat  /know,"  said  Aunt  Mymee. 

"  De  seeds  good  foh  feed  chickin  an'  mek  um  fat,"  added 
Big  Angy. 

"Ef  yo'  putt  er  row  of  sun-flowehs  'twixt  yo'  an'  de  green 


158  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

pond,   yo'    am'    gwine    ter    hab    no    fevah-an'-ageh,"    said 
Granny. 

Aunt  Em'ly  lifted  the  little  girl  from  Granny's  knee  to  her 
own,  and  began  to  trot  her  and  sing  with  a  comical  inflection 
that  set  everybody  to  laughing  and,  for  the  time  being, 
disposed  of  the  sunflower's  claims  to  pre-eminence  : — 

"  Oh  !  de  sunfloweh  grows  an'  so  do  de  rose, 
An'  pinies  fine  stan'  in  er  line ; 
But  I  don't  keer  at  all. 
Dey's  des  one  posy  grow  fob  me, 
Hit  don't  grow  on  no  big  tall  tree, 
Hit's  backy,  backy,  backy, 
Back— ee,  ba-a-a— KEE." 


XL 

FOX  TALES. 

AUNT  MARY  had  gone  to  a  "  ball  "  at  the  house  of  a  neighbour 
ten  miles  distant  from  her  cabin  in  a  bee-line.  She  and  Uncle 
John  had  started  off  at  sundown  in  the  most  sociable  proximity  ; 
Uncle  John,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  bestriding  his  old  claybank 
mare  with  great  dignity,  and  Aunt  Mary  sitting  behind  him 
and  clasping  him  closely  round  the  waist  as  a  necessary 
precaution  against  the  tumbles,  sure  to  follow  otherwise,  when 
old  Sue  affected  to  see  in  every  stump  a  bear  and  in  every  strip 
of  moonlight  a  deep-flowing  river,  and  shied  or  baulked  as 
seemed  to  suit  the  occasion. 

Granny  had  professed  herself  too  old  for  the  "  foolishness  " 
of  balls,  and  Aunt  Em'ly  had  not  been  invited,  so  the  two 
cronies  had  "  made  hit  up  bechux  "  them  to  spend  a  quiet 
evening  together.  They  were  flavouring  their  reminiscences 
of  the  good  old  times  with  cold  pork-and-cabbage  and  a 
modest  glass  apiece  of  hot  whiskey  and  water,  when  Aunt 
Mymee  and  Tow  Head  dropped  in  for  a  call. 

It  required  no  abnormal  keenness  of  perception  to  discern 
that  Aunt  Mymee  was  in  a  very  spiteful  mood,  and  that  her 
"  ugliness,"  as  Granny  called  it,  was  mainly  directed  towards 
Aunt  Em'ly.  In  response  to  a  faint  invitation,  she  went  to 
the  cupboard  and  poured  from  a  black  bottle,  whose  existence 
was  supposed  to  be  a  secret  kept  from  the  child,  a  generous 

159 


160  OLD  RABBIT,  1HE  VOODOO, 

potation.  As  she  sipped  it  her  temper — not  her  heart — seemed 
to  expand  with  its  genial  warmth.  Aunt  Em'ly's  son  had 
"  smacked  the  jaws  "  of  her  favourite  grandson,  and,  although 
she  had  very  little  patience  with  the  small  imp  herself,  she  was 
in  a  fine  fury  at  the  authoress  of  the  smacker's  being. 

"  Ez  I  come  'long,"  she  said,  with  an  unpleasant  smile,  "  I 
wuz  study  in'  'bout  detn  ar  Fox  Injuns  dat  use  ter  wuz  hyeah, 
an'  dat  call  in  de  membunce  ob  er  tale  dat  I  s'pec'  HI  missey 
gwine  ter  lak.  Ain'  yo'  lak  de  tale  'bout  de  fox  an'  de  wolf, 
HI  honey  ?  " 

As  every  one  knew,  "  honey  "  was  always  ready  for  any  sort 
of  a  story,  so  Aunt  Mymee  was  at  once  importuned  to  tell 
what  was  in  her  "  membunce."  Nothing  loth  to  begin,  with 
a  chuckle  that  made  Aunt  Em'ly's  soft  heart  quail,  she  related — 

Hew  RED  Fox  LOST  PRAIRIE- WOLF'S  DAUGHTER. 

"  In  de  ole  t'mes,  w'en  de  likely  gals  wuzzent  ez  plenty  ez 
dey  am  in  dese  times,  Ole  Perarer-Wolf  he  hed  de  gal  dat  wuz 
de  fines'  gal  in  de  kyentry.  All  de  men-crittehs  fum  fust  ter 
las'  dat  wuzzent  perwide  wid  podnehs  (partner,)  wuz  des  plum 
'stractid  arter  dat  yaller  wolf-gal.  She  wuz  er  sassy  critteh,  dat 
gal  wuz,  an'  she  grin  at  all  de  beasteses,  tuhn  an'  tuhn  erbout, 
lak  de  gals  do  down  ter  dis  day,  but  dey  wuz  one  mighty  big  des 
diffunce  twix  dem  time  an'  now,  she  hab  heap  mo'  biggeh 
batch  ter  pick  fum  den  ef  she  wuz  on  hans  at  dis  minnit,  an' 
dat  mek  er  biggitty  (proud),  an'  she  fling  up  de  haid  an'  tuhn 
up  de  nose  w'en  de  beaux  wanter  slack  up  de  co'tin'  an'  galli- 
vantin'  an*  settle  down  in  de  corndeh  ter  bussin'  jaws,  an* 
layin'  plan  foh  keeping  house  an'  ketchin'  vittles.  No,  suh  1 
she  am'  wanter  settle  down  lak  'er  mammy. 

"  Bitneby,  huh  ole  daddy,  he  riz  up.  He  plum  wo'  out,  he 
say,  wid  all  de  foolishness.  He  bin  kip  'wake  o'  nights 
a-lissenin'  at  de  gigglin'  an'  lallygaggin'  (humbugging,  chaff) 
ob  er  passel  ob  fools  dat  wuz  a-rockin'  deyse'fs  in  de  bes'  yarm- 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  161 

cheers  an'  a-w'arin'  un  um  out,  an'  a-torkin'  soft  sodder  w'en  by 
de  bes'  rights  in  de  worl'  dey  orter  bin  tekin'  dey  res',  an' 
a-gittin'  up  dey  strenk,  ter  flax  roun'  an'  yearn  dey  libbin  next 
dey,  all  he  gwine  ter.  He  des  putt  he  foot  down,  dat  gal  gotter 
mek  'er  ch'ice  an'  sottle  down.  He  done  gove  in  ter  'er  traipsin' 
(tramping)  round  an'  fetchin'  home  folk  ter  eat  up  de  vittles 
an'  git  wait  on  by  huh  mammy,  all  he  gwine  ter. 

"  Wen  he  say  dat,  de  gal  sniff  an'  pout,  but  'tain'  no  use,  an' 
she  know  dat,  so,  arter  w'iles,  she  'gin  ter  grin,  an'  ax  'er  daddy 
an'  mammy  wut  dey  lay  off  ter  gin  'er  in  de  way  ob  close  an' 
kittles.  Den  she  study  some  who  she  gwine  ter  tek. 

"  Bimeby,  she  sorter  simple  (simper)  an'  drap  'er  eye,  an*  say 
she  sorter  kinder  t'ink  young  Misteh  Red  Fox  er  mighty  propeh 
man." 

'"Troof,  too,"  interpolated  Aunt  Em'ly,  delightedly. 

"  He  wuz  er  sweet  torker,  dat  de  troof,"  continued  Aunt 
Mymee,  without  looking  up  ;  "  de  one  ain't  bawn  yit  dat  kin 
beat  him  a-settin'  up  ter  de  gals." 

"  Troof  ergin,  troof  ergin  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Em'ly.  "  Don't 
I  know  dat  ? — in  co'se  I  does  1  Ise  one  ob  de  Fox  family 
myse'f." 

"  So  'twuz  gin  out,"  went  on  Aunt  Mymee,  evenly,  "  dat 
Misteh  Red  Fox  wuz  de  man,  an'  all  han's  lay  holt  ter  git  ready 
fob  de  big  weddin'  at  Perarer- Wolf's  an'  de  gran'  eenfair  (in- 
fair,  feast)  de  brer  o'  Red  Fox  gwine  ter  gib  de  young  folks  de 
day  a-follerin'." 

"  I  boun'  yo'  dat  eenfair  wuz  fine  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Em'ly, 
in  delightful  expectation. 

"  Dat  eenfair  don't  come  off,  nur  no  weddin  n-er,"  said  Aunt 
Mymee,  coldly,  "  an'  dis  de  way  o'  dat  :  Misteh  Red  Fox, 
he  wuz  a-settin'  wid  de  fambly  an'  a-braggin'  high  on,  an' 
sez  'e — 

" '  I  gwine  ter  hab  er  suit  o'  fine  close  des  lak  de  w'ite  folks 
has.  I  done  spoke  ter  de  taileh  ter  mek  um,  an  Ise  gwine  ter 

12 


162  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

hab  de  putties'  shiny  buttons  onter  dem  close.  Ise  gwine  ter 
hab  two  row  down  de  front  ob  de  coat  an'  two  on  de  ves'  an1 
some  on  de  sleebes,  and  I  tole  de  mon  ter  putt  er  button 

hyeah * 

"  He  wuz  des  'bout  ter  retch  roun'  at  de  wais  ob  he  coat, 
but  dat  minnit  er  big  flea  gin  'im  er  tumble  bite  an'  he  clap 
he  han'  ter  de  place  (fleas  is  mighty  bad  in  er  wolf-house,  mo' 
speshul  in  er  perarer-wolf's,  an'  dey  so   techy  'bout   hit  yo' 
dassent  let  on  dat  yo'  (you  are)  bit,  an'  Red  Fox  know  dat,  an' 
w'en  he  grab  at  de  flea  he  let  hit  go  at  de  button). 
"  *  Hyeah,  I  say  ! ' — dat  mek  de  button  on  de  knee. 
"  *  I  tole  'im,'  sez  'e,  ergin,  l  ter  putt  er  button — hyeah  !f 
"  He  wuz  des  a-pintin'  roun'  ter  de  wais'  wunst  mo'  w'en  de 
flea  tuck  'im  in  de  ribs  an'  he  clap  he  claw  dar,  ri'  quick. 
u  *  Hyeah  ! '  sez  'e  ergin,  de  nex  minnit. 
"  Ole  flea  gin  'im  er  nip  on  de  neck. 
"  Wen  he  slap  dat,  he  git  er  bite  in  de  hip. 
u  Hit  kep  up  wid  de  bites  an'  de  *  put  er  button  hyeah's '  twell 
Red  Fox  des  wile,  an'  he  scratch  mos'  evveywhurs.    At  de  las', 
dat  flea  gin  'im  er  -mos'  suh-vigrous  (savage)  bite  on  de  nose,  an' 
wiles  he  a-clawin'  de  place,  dat  pestehin'  critteh  git  up  an'  git  off. 
But,  nemrnine  !  dat  ain't  lef  Red  Fox  ter  j'y  hisse'f ;  de  finishin' 
tech  bin  putt  on  Ole  Perarer-Wolf.     He  bin  gittin'  madder  an1 
madder   des  ri*   straight  erlong,  an'   w'en  Red   Fox  'low   he 
gwine  ter  hab  er  button  *  hyeah,'  an'  clap  he  claw  'pon  de  eend 
ob  he  nose,  Ole  Perarer-Wolf,  he  des  bustid  fo'th. 

"  (  Ki ! '  sez  e',  '  I  done  prube  (I  proved)  I  wuz  in  de  rights,' 
sez  'e,  '  w'en  I  sot  hit  down  dat  yo'  wuz  er  plum  ijit '  (idiot),  sez 
'e  ;  4 1  ain't  bin  nowise  sot  up  (pleased  with)  wid  dis  bizniz  fum 
de  staht,'  sez  'e,  '  but  I  gin  in  ter  de  gal  an'  huh  mammy,  but 
now  I  tek  my  stan','  sez  'e,  '  an'  all  de  woman'-folks  in  de  world 
ain't  gwine  ter  swage  (persuade)  me  ter  hab  er  mon  in  my 
fambly  dat  wanter  look  lak  de  toadstools  a-growin'  outen  'im/ 
<ez  'e.  *  Putt  er  button  on  yo'  nose  ef  yo'  a-mine  ter,  but  yo' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  163 

ain't  gwine  ter  kyar  hit  inter  my  chimbly  corndeh,'  sez  'e,  an' 
wid  dat  he  flung  open  de  do'  an'  druv  Red  Fox  out.  He  wuz 
dat  mad,  too,  dat  he  won't  lissen  ter  nuttin  fum  Red  Fox,  ur 
he  kinfolks,  ur  de  neighbehs,  ur  de  ole  ooman,  ur  de  gal,  an' 
de  nex'  week  he  myar  (marry)  off  dat  gal  ter  de  leanes'  ole 
timbeh-wolf  (forest-wolf)  dat  e'er  draw  de  bref  o'  life,  an'  sence 
dat  he  ain't  kep  no  'quaintence  wid  no  fox  somedevveh." 

Aunt  Em'ly's  face  had  been  growing  longer  and  longer  as 
the  recital  proceeded.  At  its  close  she  was  almost  in  tears, 
while  Granny  was  thrilled  to  the  very  marrow  of  her  bones  with 
indignation  that  a  tale  should  be  "  pintedly  "  told  at,  not  to,  her 
favourite  guest.  The  silence  might  have  become  embarrassing, 
for  Tow  Head  was  too  sulky  for  speech  because  no  refreshment 
had  been  offered  her,  if  the  fire  had  not  suddenly  snapped, 
spluttered,  and  sent  a  shower  of  sparks  directly  at  Aunt  Em'ly. 

"  Spit  in  hit !     Quick  !  "  exclaimed  Granny. 

Aunt  Em'ly  immediately  spat  into  the  fire  with  great  force, 
and  then  went  down  on  her  knees  and  searched  the  floor  to 
find  out  if  a  little  coal  had  flown  with  the  sparks.  When  she 
discovered  none,  she  thanked  the  "  Good  Lawd  "  fervently. 

"  Ef  de  coal  had  popped  hit  'u'd  a-bin  foh  me,"  said  Granny, 
musingly.  "  Wen  de  hick'ry  pop,  dat  am  er  call  foh  de  pie  an' 
fibble  ter  git  ready  ter  go.  Ef  hit's  de  young  dat's  wanted,  hit 
show  in  de  widnin'-sheet  a-hangin'  fum  de  cannel." 

"  Dey  ain't  nuttin  gwine  ter  pop  foh  yo',  dis  long  time,  Aunt 
Jinny,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  reassuringly.  <(  Yo'  some  ole  to-be- 
sho,  but  yo'  ain't,  ter  say  de  wuhd,^#£/£.  Now,  dem  spahks 
sholy  wuz  foh  me.  I  bin  a-stavin'  off  er  fuss  de  whole  blessid, 
live-long  day.  Yarly  dis  mawnin'  I  milk  Old  Suke,  an'  git  er 
good  pigginful  too,  an'  den,  ez  I  go  in  de  do',  I  step  on  dat  tore 
place  in  my  skyurt  dat  I  bin  a-layin'  off  ter  men'  dis  munt  back, 
an',  in  co'se,  I  stummle  an'  I  spill  dat  milk.  I  sop  up  some  an' 
fling  hit  on  de  fiah,  so  dat  fuss  pass  by.  I  go  ter  salt  de  fry- 
tatehs  an'  I  drap  salt !  In  co'se,  I  fling  er  pinch  dat  I  gedder 


164  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

up  o'er  my  lef  shouldeh  an'  I  putt  nurr  pinch  in  de  fiah, 
so  dat  fuss  pass  by.  Now  de  fiah  spit  at  me  an'  I  spit  back, 
kase  de  debbil  ahine  dat,  an'  now  I  kyarn't  tell  whut  come 
nex'." 

"  Yo'  safe  'nuff,  now,"  said  Granny.  "  Dey's  lots  o'  luck  anr 
lots  o'  trouble  in  fiah,  des  ez  yo'  mine  de  signs.  In  de  pints 
o'  dat,  dar's  maple  (maple-wood).  Ef  yo'  am  a-honin'  arter 
comp'ny,  an'  t'row  de  maple  on  the  fiah,  'long  come  de  comp'ny 
an'  yo'  satify  ;  but  ef  de  hens  won't  lay  an'  de  butteh  run  low 
an'  de  poun'-cake  et  up  ter  de  las'  crum',  an'  some  dem  triflin' 
lil  niggehs  pile  on  de  maple  an'  fetch  on  er  whole  camp-meetinr 
o'  kinfolks  an'  nabehs  wid  dey  chilluns  an'  huntin'-dawgs,  den 
yo'  mighty  much  in  de  noshin  ob  cuttin'  er  bunch  o'  lims  an' 
chunin'-up  (turning  up,  i.e.,  whipping)  dem  lil  niggehs." 

"  Troof,  too,  Aunt  Jinny.  Dey's  de  time  ter  buhn  (burn)  anr 
de  time  ter  hole  back  fum  buhnin'  too.  I  know  dat.  Dataway  I 
los'  my  bes'  hog  fum  my  Mose  a-flingin'  sassafrax-bahk  dat  Big 
Angy  gun  me  ter  mek  inter  tea  ter  t'in  (thin)  de  richness  outen 
my  blood,  kase  I  wuz  des  kivveh  wid  b'iles,  an'  dey  pesteh  mer 
night  an'  day — yo'  mine  how  'twuz — an'  I  mought  a-hed  um 
yit  ef  Aunt  Mymee  ain'  tell  me  ter  git  er  grabble  (gravel)  foh 
each  bile  an'  bile  um  in  milk  an'  tie  um  up  in  er  rag  an'  fling 
dat  rag  'way  off,  an'  de  one  dat  git  dat  rag  and  untie  hit  gwine 
ter  git  dem  bile,  an'  dat  happen  sho,  an'  I  git  shet  un  um." 

"Where,"  asked  Tow  Head,  severely,  "  did  Mose  throw  the 
sassafras  ?  " 

<;In  de  fiah,  honey,  in  co'se,  dat  huccome  de  bad  luck. 
Mighty  bad  luck  ter  buhn  sassifrax.  Hit  wuss'n  ter  buhn  ash, 
kase,  dough  ash  am  cunjerin'  wood,  de  onles'  ha'm  dat  come  or 
buhnin'  hit  am  de  bad  dream  dat  come  fum  gettin'  de  smoke 
mix'  wid  yo'  bref." 

"  Buhnin'  mighty  dangersome,  'less  yo'  know  zachry  how. 
Dat  gal  dat  he'p  in  de  kitchen  w'en  Mary  got  de  fellum  on  'er 
han'  des  mos'  ruin  dis  place.  W'y  she  ackshilly  buhn  up  all  de 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  165 

aig-shells !  In  co'se,  dat  stop  all  de  hens  fum  a-layin'.  She 
buhn  braid,  too,  an'  dat  mek  vittles  skace." 

"  De  bes'  buhnin'  am  w'en  er  chile  am  bawn  wid  er  veil  (caul). 
Ef  yo'  buhn  dat  veil,  de  chile  grow  up  strong  an'  de  mammy  git 
up  soon  an'  well.  Ef  yo'  let  that  veil  rot,  dat  mammy  gwine 
ter  hab  hahd  times  an'  lose  dat  HI  chile." 

"  Ef  yo'  buhn  dat  veil  dat  chile  gwine  ter  see  gostes  an'  tork 
wid  de  daid." 

"  So  ef  yo'  dry  um  an'  save  urn." 

"  Yessir,  but  yo'  kin  dry  dat  veil  an'  keep  um  in  hid  twell  dat 
chile  kin  walk,  den  pin  dat  veil  slack  in  huh  close  an'  let  huh 
toddle  roun'  in  de  weeds.  Ef  she  lose  dat  veil  unbeknowst,  she 
see  de  gostes  an'  de  riz-up  daid  no  mo'." 

"  Gittin'  back  ter  dem  foxes,  ergin,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  cut- 
ting across  the  conversation  like  a  swallow,  "  hit  come  in  my 
membunce  nurr  HI  tale— er  sorter  laughin'  tale — 'bout  de  HI 
foxes  an'  de  HI  perarer-chickins.  Hit  mek  mo'  betteh  tork  'fo' 
de  chillums  den  gostes  an'  veils  an'  de  likes." 

Granny  and  Aunt  Em'ly  accepted  the  rebuke  shamefacedly, 
and  murmured  something  that  might  have  been  either  an 
apology  or  an  invitation  to  proceed  with  the  "  laughing  tale," 
so  indistinct  was  it. 

Aunt  Mymee  chose  to  consider  that  it  was  the  latter  and 
drawled  out  the  following — 

"  One  time,  er  mighty  biggetty-feelin'  HI  fox  wuz  a.trottin* 
down  de  road,  w'en  he  come  'crost  er  HI  perarer-chickin  gwine 
'long  de  same  way  an'  a-lookin'  mighty  soft  an'  simple. 

"  *  Howdy  ?  '  say  Fox,  a-try^in'  ter  git  up  closte. 

"'Howdy,  yo'se'f?  '  say  Perarer-chicken,  sidlin'  off. 

"  '  How's  all  yo'  folks  ?  ' 

"  '  Des  middlin'.     How's  yone  ?  ' 

"  <  Oh,  fine  !  ' 

"  *  Ise  proud  to  hyeah  dat.  Wutchcr  bin  a-doin'  ob  yo'se'f 
sence  las'  tateh-plantin'  ?  ' 


166  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  ( Des  a-runnin'  roun'  an  j'yin'  myse'f  when  I  wuzzent 
a-lahnin'  (learning)  all  dat  my  daddy  know.' 

"  *  Sholy,  yo'  don't  set  up  ter  know  all  dat  yo'  daddy  bin  a- 
ketchin'  up  sense  (finding,  since)  he  wuz  tuhn  loose  on  de  worl'  !  ' 

"  *  I  does,  dough.  Ef  dey's  er  slyeh  fox  in  dese  hyeah 
cl'arin's,  I  'gree  ter  pin  back  he  yeahs  an'  swaller  'im  medout 
grease  ur  seas'nin'.' 

"'Delan'sakes!' 

"  '  Wutcher  bin  a-doin'  yo'  own  se'f  ? ' 

"  *  Nuttin  'ticular,'  sez  po'  lil  Perarer- Chicken,  a-hangin* 
down  de  haid  an'  a-lookin'  ez  'shame  ez  ef  huh  tail-feddehs 
wuz  pull  out.  '  Sence  I  kim  outen  de  aig  I  bin  dat  tuck  up  wid 
runnin'  up  arter  mammy  an'  a-gittin'  de  bugs  an'  seeds  she  p'int 
out,  dat  I  ain't  tuck  no  time  foh  lahnin'  nuttin  'cept  how  ter 
hide  ef  I  see  er  man  wid  er  gun  ur  er  beastis  wid  er  hongry- 
lookin'  toof  a-showinV 

"  Dat  las'  reemock  sorter  pleg  (plague)  dat  fox,  kase  'e  gotter 
hongry  toof  he  own  se'f,  but  he  ain't  own  up,  he  des  sorter 
dror  hisse'f  up  an'  say — 

" '  Huh  !  des  one  way  ter  hide,  wut  dat  ?  I  mix  up  de 
scent,  ur  I  git  in  de  slough,  ur  I  bo'  er  hole,  or — good  Lawd  !  I 
cud  tell  hidin'  ways  twell  plum  sundown.  Wut  yo'  one  lil  way  ?  ' 

<(  ( I  des  git  unneat  er  daid  leaf,'  whimple  out  Perarer- 
Chicken,  lookin'  des  all  struck  ob  er  heap  wid  dat  lahnin'.  ( In 
co'se,  I  sticks  out  some,  but  dat  ain't  nuttin,  kase  I  des  de 
coleh  dat  de  leaf  am.' 

" (  Dat  ain't  much.1 

"  *  No,'  sez  Perarer-Chicken,  sorter  firing  up,  kase  yo'  kyarn't 
allus  stan'  bein'  tromple  on  an  run  down  ef  yo'  t's  ony  er 
chicken  ; l  no  'tain't  much,  but  hit'll  do  me  twell  I  km  fly,  den  I 
don'  need  no  mo'  tricks.' 

"  Lil  fox,  he  des  open  he  mouf  for  one  mo'  brag,  w'en,  lo  an' 
beholes  !  dar  come  de  noun's. 

"  Chick,  she  hide.    She  ketch  up  er  daid  leaf  an'  roll  wid  um 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  167 

des  lak  she  wuz  a-blowin'  er  long  an  git  outen  de  parf  an'  in 
mungs  de  grass  an'  bresh,  but  dem  houn's,  dey  ketch  a-holt  o* 
Lil  Fox,  an'  ef  yo'  wanter  lahn  dem  tricks  ob  hissen  yo'  hat  ter 
go  ax  um  ob  he  bresh  dat  am  stickin'  'bove  de  chimly-piece  ob 
de  man  dat  owns  dem  houn's.  Sartin  sho,  de  bresh  am  all  de 
hounds  lef  ob  'im."  * 

Aunt  Em'ly  was  too  low-spirited  to  utter  a  single  word. 

Granny  was  ostentatiously  busy  with  a  turkey-quill,  dropped 
from  the  hearth-wing.  Consequently,  comments  in  her  case 
were  impossible. 

Only  Tow  Head  was  left  to  hurl  the  discus  of  the  critic, 
and  this  she  did  promptly,  but  with  an  obliquity  pardonable 
only  on  account  of  her  youthful  inexperience. 

"  I  hate  a  story  that  kills  somebody,"  she  said,  "  and  I  know 
just  how  Foxie's  'Jations  felt,  for  some  hunters  came  by  here, 
you  know,  a  long  time  ago,  and  their  dogs  killed  my  kitten.  I 
cried  awfully*  and  I  heard  Grandma  say  to  Mamma  that  I  seemed 
to  feel  that  I  had  lost  a  'lation.  I  didn't  really,  for  I  have  so 
many  'lations  and  only  had  just  that  one  sweet  kitty,  but  I  can 
tell  how  Foxie's  mamma  felt.  Aunt  Mymee,  you  promised  to 
trick  those  dogs  and  you  didn't  do  it." 

"  I  did,  too,"  protested  Aunt  Mymee.  <(  I  gun  evveh  las'  one 
un  um  de  mange.  Ter  dis  day  dey  ain't  er  clean  dawg  in  de 
crowd.  I  laid  er  whole  row  ob  crossed  sticks  in  de  road  whah 
dem  dawgs  boun'  ter  go  by,  an'  I  sprunkle  dem  sticks  wid  Oby 
powdeh  dat  wuz  fotch  me  fum  'way  down  Souf.  Dat  mek  um 
slow  an'  lame  an'  spile  dey  scent,  kase  dey  git  hit  on  de  nose 
too.  Arter  dat  I  th'ow  lil  on  dey  backs  an'  dat  mek  um  spotty 
lak  a  snake.  Shoh  1  I  lay  turr'ble  trick  on  um,  on  dat  am 
mos'ly  foh  folkses." 

1  The  reader  will  recognise  in  this  story  one  of  ^Esop's  fables.  It  is  very 
remarkable  that  these  tales,  probably  learned  from  Canadian  French  Catholic 
priests  or  missionaries,  have  become  well  known  to  the  Indians,  and,  having 
been  adapted  to  their  mythology,  are  literally  believed  to  have  taken  place. 
Vide  "  The  Algonkin  Legends  of  New  England  "  for  further  illustration  of  this. 


i68  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

"  Wut  trick  ?  "  asked  Granny,  leaning  forward  eagerly  and 
dropping  her  quill  unheeded  on  the  glowing  hearth. 

"  Des  one  o'  dem  Oby  pison,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  coolly. 
"  You  kyarn'  git  all  de  greegins  (ingredients)  foh  hit  hyeah,  so  I 
don't  mek  no  bones  ter  tell  yo'  dat  hit  am  er  powdeh  mek  outen 
de  same  hef  ob  snails  an'  lizuhds  an'  crickits  an'  scorpums  dry 
down  an'  beat  fine.  Huh  !  ef  yo'  git  dat  on  er  man's  haid,  he 
ha'r  all  gwine  ter  fall  off  an'  he  eye  git  dim  an'  he  vittle  lose 
dey  good  tase  an'  he  gwine  ter  hyeah  de  soun'  o'  crickits  an' 
frogs  an'  de  likes  in  his  yeahs,  an'  he  gwine  ter  be  slow  lak  de 
snail  an'  spotty  lak  de  snake  an'  he  be  dumb  (stupid)  lak  de 
lizuhd,  an'  he  gwine  ter  be  ez  full  ob  misery  ez  er  Injun  am  ob 
lice.  Dat  so,  an'  he  meat  gwine  ter  swivel  on'  he  bones  gwine  ter 
crack  an'  he  marrerdry  out.  Trick,  huh  !  Wut  yo'  name  dat  ?  " 

"  Oh,  poor  dogs  ! "  cried  Tow  Head,  transferring  her 
sympathies.  "  Do,  dear  Aunt  Mymee,  take  that  trick  off." 

Mymee  laughed  grimly.  "  De  way  ter  git  er  trick  off,"  she 
said  slowly,  a  am  ter  git  er  biggeh  one  mm  nurr  cunjerer  an* 
putt  hit  onter  de  one  dat  done  hit — dat  am,  ef  hit  er  sprunkle- 
trick.  Wid  er  bag-trick  ur  er  image-trick,  hit  am  diffunt. 
Nemmine,  dough,  dis  night.  I  study  up  sumpin  foh  dem  dawgs, 
ef  yo'  go  'long  up  ter  de  House  good." 

Tow  Head,  in  quite  a  frenzy  of  remorse  and  sympathy, 
agreed  to  do  anything  for  the  hound's  sake,  and  was  led  away  a 
willing  captive. 

Aunt  Mymee  enlivened  the  night  as  she  disappeared  from 
view  by  singing  in  cheerful  tones  the  following,  as  Granny  said, 
"  owdashus  "  words,  which  are  supposed  to  echo  the  sound  of 
the  devil's  forge  : — 

"Bang-go  !  Pang-go  1 
Did  yo' — ev-veh 
See  de— debbil, 
On  he — wood  an' 
lun— shub-bil, 
A-t'arin'  up  de  groun'  wid  he  Ions;  toe-n-n-n  ail?" 


XII. 

LUCK-BALLS. 

AUNT  MYMEE  had  been  in  what  Granny  designated  as  "a 
turr'ble  takin',''  the  cause  of  which  was  the  loss  of  her  most 
powerful  fetich,  the  luck-ball  she  had  talked  to  and  called  by 
her  own  name  as  if  it  were  her  double.  Her  superstitious 
terrors  when  she  discovered  the  loss  were  realty  pitiable  ;  her 
overbearing  manner  towards  the  other  negroes  quite  forsook 
her,  her  limbs  were  palsied  and  her  complexion  bleached  to  that 
awful  greyish  pallor  so  much  more  shocking  to  the  beholder 
than  the  lividness  of  a  Caucasian.  She  had  missed  the  precious 
ball  in  the  morning,  when  she  was  dressing  herself,  and  hastily 
felt  in  her  bed,  expecting  to  find  it  there.  Not  finding  it,  she 
snatched  off  the  covers  and  shook  the  pillows  vigorously.  The 
floor  was  next  scrutinised.  No  ball  could  be  found.  Then  Aunt 
Mymee  went  wild.  Her  morning  duties  were  forgotten,  she  ran 
hither  and  thither,  looking  in  all  possible  and  impossible  places 
of  concealment  and  obstinately  refusing  to  state  what  she  had 
lost.  Finally,  with  a  groan  of  despair,  she  flung  herself  down 
on  her  cabin  floor  in  a  cowering  heap  and  quavered  out  that 
she  would  be  better  off  in  her  grave,  for  an  enemy  had  stolen 
her  luck-ball,  and  her  soul  as  well  as  her  luck  was  in  it. 

Her  daughter's  pickaninnies,  in  great  excitement,  spread  the 
news,  but  scarcely  had  Granny  and  Aunt  Mary  begun  to  enjoy 
it  when  they  had  "  ter  lafF  out  o'  turr  side  o'  de  mouf  "  ;  Tow 

169 


170  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

Head  proudly  marched  to  the  cabin  with  an  exceedingly  dirty 
little  bag  in  her  hand  and  desired  to  know  if  Aunt  Mymee's 
soul  was  "  tied  up  in  that  nasty  thing  ?  " 

Evidently  it  was.  Aunt  Mymee  sprang  up  with  a  joyful  cry 
and  kissed  the  bag  and  hugged  the  finder,  then  sternly  de- 
manded— 

"  Huccome  dat  yo'  got  dat  medout  me  a-knowin'  ?  " 

"  Found  it  by  my  bed  this  morning." 

"  Oh  !  honey,  w'yn't  yo'  fetch  um  ri'  off  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  see  you.     Mamma  dressed  me  this  morning." 

"  Did  yo' " — Mymee's  voice  sank  to  an  anxious  whisper — 
M  show  dat  ball  unter  'er  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tow  Head,  with  great  positiveness,  "  I  didn't. 
She  told  me,  once,  when  I  was  telling  her  about  Uncle  John's 
Jack,  never  to  say  anything  more  about  such  wicked  idol-ertry, 
and  I  promised  I  wouldn't,  and  I  always  keep  my  promises — if 
I  don't  forget.  Grandma  says  that  is  my  best  trait." 

Aunt  Mymee  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Dat's  er  good  chile,  don't  pesteh  yo'  ma,"  she  said,  ap- 
provingly, as  she  began  to  fumble  at  the  strings  wrapped  (not 
tied)  round  the  neck  of  the  dirty  bag  that  had  raised  such  a 
commotion.1 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Aunt  Mymee  ?  " 

"  Gwine  ter  gib  Lil  Mymee  er  drink.  Dat  wut  she  arter,  I 
reck'n,  w'en  she  bust  loose.  I  ain't  gun  'er  no  drink  sence  er 
week  ergo  de  day  'fo'  yistiddy,  an'  she  boun'  ter  hab  one  wunst 
er  week.  I  wuz  dat  tuk  up  wid  new-fangle  noshins  dat  I  fegit 
'er,  an',  lo  an'  beholes  !  wut  does  I  git  fob  hit  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  bring  you  a  gourd  of  water  ?  " 

"  No,  honey.  Lil  Mymee,  she  don'  sup  watteh,"  said  Aunt 
Mymee,  lifting  a  dirty  little  yarn  ball  out  of  the  dirty  little  linen 

1  This  same  incident  also  occurred  almost  exactly  as  here  related  to  my 
brother — Henry  P.  Leland — when  he  was  twelve  years  of  age.  The  old  black 
cook  of  the  family  had  lost  her  "  cunjerin'  bag,"  when  my  brother  found  it.  It 
contained  a  chicken's  breastbone,  ashes,  and  rags.  — C.  G.  L. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  171 

bag.  "  She  sup  wut  Big  Angy  name  eau-de-vie,  an'  dat  sholy 
am  de  watteh  ob  life  fob  huh,  kase  ef  she  don'  git  un  she  die." « 

Aunt  Mymee  produced  a  black  bottle  of  Little  Mymee's 
elixir  of  life,  better  known  to  the  general  public  as  whiskey,  and 
proceeded  to  moisten,  first  the  ball,  then  herself  therewith  ;  after 
which  ceremony  she  restored  the  ball  to  its  proper  receptacle, 
mended  the  broken  string,  which  had  been  the  cause  of  its  loss, 
and  made  it  an  ornament  to  her  person  by  slinging  the  string 
over  her  left  shoulder  and  under  her  right  so  that  the  ball  rested 
under  her  right  armpit.  She  had,  beforehand,  be  it  understood, 
slipped  out  of  the  various  waists  of  her  raiment,  so  that  the  ball 
should  lie  against  her  naked  body,  with  no  intervening  fold  of 
calico  or  flannel  to  absorb  its  "  strenk." 

*  How  that  ball  was  made,  what  were  its  components,  Tow 
Head  did  not,  at  that  time,  know,  though  she  gathered  from 
the  half-whispered  gossip  of  the  other  aunties  that  it  was  the 

work  of  "  King  "  A ,  a  Voodoo  doctor  or  cunjurer  of  great 

powers  and  influence. 

This  A was  a  curious  half-barbarian,  who  never  stayed 

long  in  a  place,  made  his  entrances  secretly  and  mysteriously  in 
the  night,  never  confided  in  any  one,  never  spent  money  for 
anything  but  whiskey,  never  lacked  for  the  good  things  of  this 
world,  and  never  was  reduced  to  the  inconvenience  of  begging 
or  stealing,  although  he  was  as  the  lilies  of  the  field  "  that  toil 
not,  neither  do  they  spin."  No  cabin  refused  him  shelter  and 
the  best  bed  and  food  it  could  afford.  No  one  knew  whence 
he  came  or  whither  he  was  going.  When  four  taps  were  heard 

above  the  latch,  some  one  flew  to  usher  in  the  guest.  "  A 's 

dar"  was  the  unspoken  conviction.  How  he  came  was  a  matter 
of  conjecture  ;  it  was  generally  conceded  that  he  travelled  at  his 
ease  on  some  strange  steed  of  the  devil's  providing. 

As  soon  as  he  was  settled  in  his  temporary  quarters — that  is, 
had  eaten  of  everything  in  the  larder,  drunk  generous  pota- 
1  This  is  African,  as  still  practised  on  the  Guinea  coast. 


172 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


THE  KING  OF   THE   VOODOOS. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  173 

tions  of  whiskey,  and  taken  possession  of  the  best  chair — a  mes- 
senger was  sent  out  "  to  pass  the  word  around "  that  he  had 
arrived. 

In  the  course  of  the  night  the  answer  came  in  the  persons  of 
scores  of  darkies,  some  of  them  from  a  distance  of  many  miles, 
who  eagerly  purchased  his  remedies,  charms  and  "  tricks." 

When  she  was  a  child  Tow  Head  never  once  caught  sight  of 
him,  but  in  after  years  she  had  more  than  one  interview  with 
this  "  king  "  of  occult  "  cussedness."  When  she  saw  him  her 
disappointment  was  extreme.  There  was  nothing  royal  either 
in  his  appearance  or  demeanour.  He  was,  as  he  is,  a  black, 
sweaty,  medium-sized  negro,  half-naked,  altogether  innocent  of 
soap,  and  not  dispensing  the  perfume  of  Araby  the  blest.1  His 
eyes  were  snaky,  his  narrow  forehead  full  at  the  eyebrows  but 
shockingly  depressed  above.  His  nose  was  broad  and  with  a 
flatness  of  nostrils  emphasized  to  the  perception  of  the  beholder 
by  the  high,  bony  ridge  that  divided  them.  His  chin  was  nar- 
row and  prominent ;  at  first  glance,  it  seemed  broad  by  reason 
of  the  many  baggy  folds  that  surrounded  it  after  the  fashion  of 
a  dew-lap.  He  was  far  from  beautiful  when  his  features  were 
in  repose,  but  the  time  to  fully  realise  that  he  was  a  self-chosen 
disciple  of  his  Satanic  Majesty  was  when  he  unclosed  his  great 
rolling  lips  in  a  silent  laugh.  The  yawning  cavern  thereby  dis- 
closed, with  its  double  guard  of  yellow,  broken,  "snaggy"  teeth 
set  in  gums  un wholesomely  red,  and  its  ugly,  wriggling  tenant, 
a  serpent-like  tongue,  were,  in  themselves,  more  awe-inspiring 
than  any  charm  or  curse  that  issued  therefrom. 

When  Tow  Head  saw  him  she  meekly  asked  for  some  talis- 
man to  insure  good  luck  to  a  friend. 

"  Fetch  me,"  said  the  ogre,  "  er  ha'r  ur  two  fum  de  body  o*  de 
one  dat  wants  de  luck,  an'  er  dollah,  an'  I  mek  yo'  er  luck-ball." 

1  Like  nearly  all  the  persons  described  in  these  chapters,  A was  not 

quite  a  negro.  His  mother  was  a  pure-blood  Indian,  and  the  son  spoke 
Indian  as  naturally  as  English. — C.  G.  L. 


174  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

Tow  Head  explained  that  the  "  ha'r  "  could  not  be  obtained. 
The  friend  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  ocean. 

"  Den  fetch  de  money  an'  I  kin  hab  red  clobeh  (clover)  stan' 
in  de  place  o'  de  ha'r." 

Tow  Head  "  fotch  "  the  dollar  and  then,  as  she  demonstrated 
that  she  was  something  of  a  witch  herself,  by  repeating  the 
formula  she  had  learned  from  Aunt  Mymee  for  preparing  a 
"  tricken-bag,"  she  was  not  only  furnished  the  ball  but,  in  ad- 
dition, was  taught  how  to  make  it. 

This  is  one  way  to  prepare  a  "  tricken-bag  "  : — 

Take  the  wing  of  a  jaybird,  the  jaw  of  a  squirrel,  and  the 
fang  of  a  rattle-snake  and  burn  them  to  ashes  on  any  red-hot 
metal.  Mix  the  ashes  with  a  pinch  of  grave-dust — the  grave  of 
the  old  and  wicked  has  most  potency  in  its  earth — moisten  with 
the  blood  of  a  pig-eating  sow  ;  make  into  a  cake  and  stick  into 
the  cake  three  feathers  of  a  crowing  hen  wrapped  with  hair  from 
the  head  of  the  one  who  wishes  an  enemy  tricked.  Put  the 
cake  into  a  little  bag  of  new  linen  or  cat-skin.  Cat-skin  is  better 
than  linen,  but  it  must  be  torn  from  the  haunch  of  a  living  cat. 
Whatever  the  bag  is,  it  must  be  tied  with  a  ravelling  from  a 
shroud,  named  for  the  enemy  and  then  hidden  under  his  house. 
It  will  bring  upon  him  disease,  disgrace,  and  sorrow.  If  a  whip- 
porwill's  wing  is  used  instead  of  a  jay's  it  will  bring  death. 

"Dat's  toll'ble,"  A—  -  declared.  "  Des  tolTble.  Thee 
(three)  am  er  good  numbeh,  but  fo  (four)  am  betteh  in  de 
makin'  up  ob  tricks.  Good  Ian' ! x  de  daid  deyse'fs  got  ter  mine 
de  fos  (fours)  ef  yo'  mek  um  plenty  nufF.  Fo'  time  fo'  time  fo' 
(4x4x4)  am  de  gret  numbeh.  De  daid  an'de  debbils  gotter 
mine  dat.  Des  see  me  mek  dis  hyeah  luck-ball  an'  kote  (quote) 
um  in." 

A spread  his  materials,  consisting  of  red  clover,  dust, 

tinfoil,  white  yarn,  and  white  sewing-silk,  on  a  table,  called  for 

*  Good  land  !  a  land !  A  common  American  interjection,  not  confined  to 
the  blacks. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  175 

a  bottle  of  whiskey,  and,  when  the  last-named  necessity  of 
modern  "  cunjerin  "  was  produced,  proceeded  to  business.  He 
broke  off  four  lengths  of  yarn,  each  length  measuring  about 
forty-eight  inches.  These  were  doubled  and  re-doubled  into 
skeins  of  four  strands  each  and  spread  in  a  row  before  him. 
To  each  skein  was  added  forty-eight  inches  of  sewing-silk  folded 
as  the  yarn  was. 

"  Dar  now  !  "  he  said,  "  De  silk  am  ter  tie  yo'  frens  unter  yo', 
de  yahn  am  ter  tie  down  all  de  debbils.  Des  watch  me  tie  de 
knots.  Hole  on  dough  ! — dis  fust !  " 

The  "  fust  "  proceeding  was  to  fill  his  mouth  with  whiskey. 
Then  ensued  a  most  surprising  gurgling  and  mumbling,  as  he 
tied  a  knot  near  the  end  of  the  skein  nearest  him.  As  it  was 
tightened,  he  spat  about  a  teaspoonful  of  tobacco-perfumed 
saliva  and  whiskey  upon  it. 

"  Dar  now  !  "  he  said,  "  dat's  er  mighty  good  knot.  Dey 
ain't  no  debbil  kin  git  thu  dat." 

"  Stop  !  Stop  !  You  are  not  dealing  fairly  with  me.  You 
promised  that  I  should  hear  your  incantation,  and  you  mumble 
so  that  I  cannot  distinguish  a  word." 

"  Ise  a-kotin  in  (quoting  in)  de  name  o'  de  one  de  ball  am  foh. 
Des  wait  twell  I  git  thee  (three)  mo'  knots  tied  in  dis  hank  an' 
den  I  kote  out  loud  foh  de  turrs." 

Sure  enough,  when  the  mumbling,  spitting,  and  tying  had 
been  repeated  three  times,  he  laid  down  the  skein,  took  up  the 
second  one,  filled  his  mouth  with  whiskey,  began  to  tie  a  knot, 
and  said — 

"  Gord  afo'  me,  Gord  ahine  me,  Gord  be  wid  me.  May  dis 
ball  fetch  all  good  luck  ter  Charles  Leland.  May  hit  tie  down 
all  debbils,  may  hit  bine  down  'is  innernies  afo'  'im,  may  hit 
bring  um  undeh  'is  feet.  May  hit  bring  'im  frens  in  plenty, 
may  hit  bring  'im  faithful  frens,  may  hit  bine  um  to  'im.  May 
hit  bring  'im  honeh  (honour),  may  hit  bring  'im  riches,  may 
hit  bring  'im  'is  haht's  afesire.  May  hit  bring  'im  success  in 


j;6  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

evveht'ing  he  hondehtakes,  may  hit  bring  'im  happiness.     I  ax 
foh  hit  in  de  name  ob  de  Gord." 

This  he  repeated  four  times,  then  spat  upon  the  knot,  took  a 
fresh  drink  of  whiskey,  began  on  a  second  knot  and  repeated  the 
whole  performance,  exactly  as  he  did  also  when  he  tied  the  third 
and  fourth  knots.  When  this  second  skein  had  its  four  knots 
tied,  he  laid  it  against  the  first.  Before  the  two  had  lain  several 
inches  apart. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  ef  yo'  gotter  fair  membunce  (an'  I  reck'n 
yo'  has,  kase  yo'  look  lak  er  ooman  strong  in  de  haid,  er  mighty 
strong  ooman  in  de  haid)  I  'low  dat  yo'  knows  dat  chahm  off  by 
haht.  Dat's  yo'  look  out  dough,  kase  I  ain'  gwineter  holler  hit 
no  mo'.  Ise  gwine  ter  say  hit  sorf  (soft)  w'iles  I  ties  de  fo'  knots 
in  dem  urr  two  HI  hanks." 

When  the  muttering  and  spitting  at  length  ceased,  and  four 
little  skeins  with  four  little  knots  in  each  lay  side  by  side,  Tow 
Head  asked — 

"  What  is  the  use  of  tying  all  those  knots  ?  " 

"  Dem  knots  !  W'y  dem  knots  am  in  fo's  (fours)  an'  dey  tie 
down  aH  de  debbils — debbils  is  'fraid  o'  fo'  time  fo'  time  fo'. 
Likeallwise,  de  knots  bine  yo'  frens  unter  yo'.  Dey  ain't  no 
debbil  kin  git  thu  dem  knots." 

"  What  is  all  that  other  stuff  for  ?  " 

"Stuff!"  the  "  cunjer-man's  "  tone  was  indignant.  "  Des 
wait  twell  dat  stuff  git  a-wuhkin'.  Dat  ar  piece  ob  file  (foil) 
rupisent  (represents)  de  brightness  ob  dat  HI  spurrit  dat  gwine 
ter  be  in  de  ball,  dat  clobeh  am  in  de  place  ob  de  ha'r  offen 
de  one  dat  gwine  ter  own  de  ball,  dat  dus'  am  innemies'  dus,r 
an'  hit  am  ter  bline  de  eyes  ob  de  innemies." 

So  saying,  he  drew  three  of  the  skeins  towards  him,  twisted 
them  into  a  little  nest  and  gave  them  a  copious  bath  of  saliva 
and  whiskey. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  conjuring  is  mostly  whiskeying." 
'Dey's  er  heap  o'  pennunce  (dependence  to  be  placed  in) 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  177 

whiskey,  sholy,  dough  in  de  outlandish  kyentry  fum  whurs  dey 
fetch  de  niggehs  in  de  fust  place,  dey  tek  some  sort  ob  greens 
an'  putt  um  in  er  gode  (gourd)  wid  watteh  an'  set  um  in  de  sun 
twell  dey  wuhk  (work — ferment),  an'  dat  go  in  de  place  ob 
whiskey."  ' 

Tow  Head  would  fain  have  asked  other  questions,  but  the 
"  king  "  waved  his  hand  to  enjoin  silence.  Again  he  had 
recourse  to  the  whiskey-bottle,  and  once  more  he  began  to  mur- 
mur his  incantation,  pausing  only  to  spit  upon  the  red  clover 
.blossoms  and  the  encircling  leaves  and  upon  the  tinfoil,  as  he 
placed  them  in  the  little  yarn  nest  and  sprinkled  them  liberally  with 
enemies'  dust — a  powder  that  looked  as  if  he  had  picked  it  up  at 
a  gas-house,  although  he  declared  it  was  dust  gathered  where 
the  river  sand  and  the  clay  of  the  bank  met.  Suddenly,  with  a 
dramatic  flourish,  he  plunged  his  hand  into  his  bosom  and  drew 
forth  a  ball  of  white  yarn.  From  this  he  began  to  wind  the 
thread  about  the  little  woollen  nest,  all  the  time  keeping  up 
the  muttering  of  the  incantation  and  the  attendant  punctiiation 
of  saliva  and  whiskey.  In  a  few  minutes,  he  had  made  a  new 
ball  of  a  little  over  an  inch  in  diameter.  This  was  a  "  luck- 
ball."  He  held  it  suspended  by  a  length  of  yarn  and  began  to 
talk  to  it  in  most  caressing  tones. 

"  Promuss  dat  yo'll  be  er  good  ball." 

.The  string  began  to  twirl  as  if  unwinding. 

"  Dat's  right !     I  know'd  yo'd  be  good." 

"  You  have  left  out  a  skein,"  interrupted  Tow  Head. 

"  Dat  wuz  a-puppus,"  was  the  lofty  reply.  "  Now,  ef  yo* 
want  de  good  ob  dis  hyeah  ball,  yo'  ain't  gwine  ter  flusteh  me 
wid  queschins." 

Tow  Head  was  stricken  dumb. 

The  "  king  "  shut  his  eyes  and  proceeded  to  give  an  uncanny 
exhibition  of  ventriloquism. 

1  Quite  true.  This  is  the  pombi  or  maize-beer  of  Africa,  used  in  magic. 
— C.  G.  L. 

13 


178  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Now,"  said  he,  addressing  the  ball,  as  he  dangled  it  between 
his  thumb  and  finger,  "  yo'  name  is  Leland,  Charles  Leland. 
Ise  gwine  ter  sen'  yo'  er  long  way  off  unter  er  master,  er  mighty 
long  way  off,  'crost  big  watteh  (the  ocean).  Go  out  in  de 
woods  an'  'fresh  yo'se'f  'fo'  yo'  staht.  Go  'long !  Do  yo' 
hyeah  me  ?  Is  yo'  gwine  ?  Is  yo'  gwine  way  off  ?  Is  yo' 
climbin'  ?  Is  yo'  climbin'  high  ?  " 

After  each  question  there  was  a  series  of  answerings,  growing 
fainter  and  fainter  as  the  spirit  of  the  ball  was  supposed  to  go 
farther  and  farther  away. 

After  the  last  question  there  was  a  long  pause.  Then  "  Charles 
Leland  "  was  invited  to  return.  As  he  was  a  long  way  off,  the 
"  king  "  listened  attentively  to  the  faint  murmur  that  came  in 
reply,  even  pressing  forward  the  rim  of  his  ear  to  catch  the  faint, 
far-distant  answer. 

The  answer  was  evidently  what  the  "  king  "  desired,  for  he 
continued  to  question  and  receive  replies,  and  each  time  the 
question  was  fainter,  and  the  reply  louder.  "  Is  yo'  stahted  ? 
Is  yo'  comin'  closter  ?  Is  yo'  gittin'  nigh  ?  Is  yo'  back  ?  Is 
yo'  in  de  ball  ergin  ?  " 

All  of  "  Charles'  s  "  replies  were  in  the  affirmative.  When  he 
was  once  more  at  home,  he  proclaimed  the  fact  by  causing  the  ball 
to  spin  and  dance  in  the  most  surprising  manner.  When  he 
finally  relapsed  into  quietude,  he  had  another  shower-bath  from 
his  summoner's  mouth.  Then  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done 
but  to  wrap  the  ball  in  tinfoil  and  a  little  silk  rag.  The  only 
instructions  given  were  to  place  the  ball  in  a  linen  bag,  attach  it  to 
a  string  of  flax  or  hemp  and  direct  the  one  for  whom  it  was 
named  to  sling  the  string  over  the  left  shoulder  and  under  the 
right,  so  that  the  ball  should  rest  under  the  right  arm.  From 
thence  he  must  be  taken  once  a  week  and  bathed  in  whiskey, 
otherwise  its  strength  would  die.  At  any  time  "  he"  could  be 
taken  out  and  consulted  or  confided  in.  His  approval  or  dis- 
approval could  be  felt  by  the  owner,  at  once,  and  his  help 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  179 

relied  on  if  asked  for.  Only  one  warning  was  given.  "  Don't 
tie  no  knots  in  he  kivvuz  (covers)." x 

Just  such  a  ball  was  the  one  Aunt  Mymee  lost  and  found. 
All  her  acquaintances  knew  as  well  as  she  did  what  it  was  to 
her  ;  the  matter  was  a  theme  of  gossip  all  day  and  inspired 
Granny  and  Aunt  Em'ly  to  relate  stories  of  other  and  more 
precious  luck- balls  when  evening  came  on. 

Aunt  Em'ly's  story  of  Ole  Rabbit's  silver  bubble  came  first. 

"  One  time,  de  Debbil's  ole  ooman,  des  foh  'muse  huhse'f  an' 
pesteh  folks,  mek  de  spoht  (sport)  ob  flingin'  er  silveh  blubbeh 
inter  de  pond,  an'  den  she  gin  out  dat  whoso  git  um  git  all  de 
good  luck  dat  am  in  de  worl',  an'  she  mek  up  er  turr'ble  speunce 
(experience,  deeds)  dat  all  han's  am  boun'  ter  go  thu,  ef  dey  git 
um." 

"What  experience,  Aunt  Em'ly?  " 

"  Des  hole  on,  honey,  hole  back  de  hosses  an*  we  git  dar 
bimeby.  Hit  Ole  Chuffy  we  aim  arter  now.  Dis  de  way  he 
sot  out,  an'  he  des  natchel  honed  arter  dat  ball.  He  uster  go 
down  by  de  big  pond  at  de  aige  o'  de  swamp  an'  set  dar  an' 
study  'bout  hit  all  times  o'  de  day  an'  night.  'Pear  lak  he 
kyarn'  git  hit  offen  he  mine  'tall  ;  he  tork  about  hit  daytime, 
he  dremp  'bout  hit  twell  he  res'  bin  cl'ar  spile.  He  go  on 
dataway  twell  he  drap  off  der  skin  an'  bone.  He  git  dat  desput 
dat  he  lay  off  ter  ax  ole  Miss  Debbil  ef  she  won't  please  'um  gin 
'im  dat  blubbeh,  kase  he  bin  know  dat  ole  ooman  sence  he  wuz 
knee-high  ter  er  hoppehgrass,  an'  he  he'p  'er  out  wunst  ur 
twiste  w'en  Ole  Blue  Jay  kyar  tale  'bout  'er  ter  er  ole  man. 
She  lak  mighty  well  ter  see  'im  cut  he  shines  dat  mek  'er  laff 


*  I  received  this  luck-ball  in  a  letter  when  in  Copenhagen.  It  appeared  to 
be  such  a  mysterious  or  important  object,  that  an  official  was  specially  sent 
from  the  post-office  with  it  to  the  hotel  where  I  was  staying,  and  I  received  it 
from  him.  The  reader  may  find  an  account  of  how  I  myself  have  seen  luck- 
bags  made  by  witches  in  Italy,  in  "  Etruscan  Roman  Relics  in  Popular  Tradi- 
tion." (London  :  T.  Fisher  Unwin.  1873.)— C.  G.  L. 


i8o  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

w'en  she  git  de  low-downs  fum  quoilin'  (quarrelling)  wid  de 
Debbil.  He  know  dat,  so  he  go  roun'  de  pond  ter  de  aige  ob 
de  slough — hit  wuz  in  de  wanin'  ob  de  moon,  in  co'se,  kase  dat 
am  w'en  de  Debbil  an'  he  folkses  am  de  peartes'.  Yessir  !  hit 
wuz  at  de  wanin'  ob  de  moon,  an'  dekine  (kind)  ob  er  moon  dat 
corned  in  new  'way  down  in  de  souf-wes',  a-rollin'  in  de  sky  pun 
eend  stiddier  a-settin'  on  huh  back.  Now  den,  dat  wuz  er  wet 
moon,  hit  wuz  er  moon  de  Injun  kin  hang  he  queeveh  o'  arrehs 
on,  kase  de  watteh  gwine  ter  run  out  an'  dey  be  no  huntin'. 
Hit  wuz  er  mighty  red  moon  too,  wid  sto'ms  (storms)  a-mum- 
blin'  in  de  hot  a'r  roun'  hit.  Hit  wuz  er  mighty  good  night 
foh  cunjerin'  an'  a-callin'  up  de  goses  an'  de  booggers  (bogies) 
an'  de  laks  ob  dem,  but  Ole  Bunny,  he  done  fegit  dat  hit  bin 
a-rainin'  at  dinneh-time  w'en  de  sun  wuz  a-shinin'.  Ef  he  t'ink 
o'  dat,  he  know  'tain't  no  use  ter  go  out  an'  call  up  de  ole 
ooman,  kase  rain  in  de  sunshine  am  de  sho  sign  dat  de  Debbil 
bin  a-lickin'  her. 

"  Well !  he  dat  'stractid  'bout  de  ball  he  ain't  hed  dat  in 
membunce,  so  he  go  ter  de  ma'sh  an'  he  wait  an'  he  watch,  an' 
bimeby,  he  see  de  smoke  rise,  'way  out  yondeh.  Den  de 
jacky-me-lantuhns  (jack-o'-lanterns — will-o'-the-wisps)  come 
bibbitty-bobbitty  by.  Den  he  tek  de  red  clobeh  leabes  an' 
heads  dat  he  fotch  a-puppus  an'  he  strow  dem  on  de  groun'  an' 
he  set  down  on  um,  an'  he  wait  an'  he  wait. 

"  Den  de  brack  smoke  come  nigher  an'  nigher. 

"  Den  hit  stop. 

"  Den  he  holler  out— 

'  My  honey,  my  love, 
My  turkle-dove, 
Come  oveh  1  come  oveh  ! '  " 

"  Ez  offen  ez  de  smoke  stop  he  holler  dat. 
"  Wut  he  holler  dat  foh  ? — Kase  hit  de  way  ter  mek  dat  ole 
'ooman-debbil,  come  on.     All  de  'oomans,  honey,  debbil  ur 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  181 

no  debbil,  run  todes  dat  kine  o'  tork.  Co'se  dey  do  !  All  de 
men-folks  kin  spressify  (express  themselves)  ter  dat. 

"  Well  !  at  de  las',  w'en  he  holler  dat  twell  he  mouf  wuz  ez 
dry  ez  er  beanpod  arter  fros',  de  smoke  git  closte,  den  hit  paht 
open  in  de  middle  an  dar  wuz  de  debbil's  ole  'ooman  !  " 

"  Was  she  awfully,  awfully  ugly  ?  " 

"  Huh  !  dat  she  wuzzent  !     De  debbil  ain't  no  fool      He  kin 


"  DAR  wuz  DE  DEBBIL'S  OLE  OOMAN." 

pick  out  de  good  looks  de  same  as  de  nex'  un.  She  wuz  ez 
putty  ez  er  painter  (panther)  an'  ez  sassy  ez  er  yalleh  gal 
•(mulatto).  She  got  one  fut  lak  Ole  Rabbit  dough,  an'  de  urr 
lak  er  deer.  Huh  han's,  dey  wuz  w'ite  an'  putty,  but  dey  got 
de  claw  'pun  de  eend  lak  er  pussy-cat's." 

"  Did  she  claw  Old  Rabbit  ?  " 

"  Nuh,  but  I  ain't  'ny  dat  (deny  that)  w'en  he  see  dat  ole 
'ooman  he  trimmle  lak  de  leabes.  He  look  an'  he  sees  dat 


182  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

she  bin  a-cryin',  an'  dat  mek  'im  wish  dat  he  c'd  mek  he 
mannehs  (bow)  an'  cl'ar  out. 

a(Wut  fetch  yo'  hyeah  ? '  she  ax,  'way  down  deep  lak  er 
burner-bull.  *  Wut  fetch  yo'  hyeah  ?  '  sez  she,  '  hyeah  mungs 
de  daid  ?  Yo'  place  am  mungs  de  libbin.  Go  'way  !  Git 
yo'  gone  ! '  sez  she. 

"  Wid  dat  de  smoke  shet  in  wunst  mo'  an'  staht,  wimly- 
wamly,  wimly-wamly,  des  a  trim'lin'  'long,  sorter  slow,  lak  de 
shadder  w'en  de  win'  blow  de  cannel  des  de  leases'  lil  mite. 

44  Den,  oh  my !  Chuffy,  he  wuz  skeert,  but  he  des  mek  out 
ter  say — 

'  M-M-M-My  h-h-honey,  m-m-my  1-1-love, 
M — My  t-t-turkle-d-d-d-dove  1  ' 

"  De  res'  un  hit  stick  in  he  thote  an'  he  kyarn't  fetch  hit  out, 
but,  nemmine  !  dat  stop  'er,  an'  den  he  git  de  strenk  ter  baig 
an'  plead  foh  de  lil  silveh  ball. 

"  She  so  frackshis,  she  won't  gin  'im  nuttin.  She  say  she 
done  gin  'im  'er  own  rabbit-fut  foh  luck,  dat  one  dat  'er 
mammy  cotch  foh  'er,  an'  dat  sholy  plenty.  Ef  he  want  dat 
silveh  luck-ball,  he  des  kin  wuhk  foh  hit.  Wid  dat  she  go 
weevly-wavely  off ;  an'  den  de  jacky-me-lantuhns,  dey  kirn 
up  an'  skeert  dat  po',  lone  lil  ole  Man  Rabbit  mos'  ter  deff.  He 
des  clip  home,  he  do,  but  he  ain't  got  de  blubbeh,  an'  dat  mos' 
kill  'im.  'Tain't  long  arter  dat  twell  he  do  git  dat  blubbeh 
dough,"  continued  Aunt  Em'ly,  smiling  on  her  audience, 
encouragingly,  "  an'  dis  hyeah  dat  I  gwine  to  tell  yo'  am  de 
whahby  he  sot  ter  wuhk. 

"  He  go  out  in  de  bresh  an'  he  cut  'im  de  slimmes'  kine  ob 
er  hazel  switch,  forkin'  at  de  eend,  lak  dem  dar  switches  dat 
de  well-diggehs  hab  w'en  dey  a-tryin'  foh  ter  fine  whah  de 
watteh  am,  soster  dig  de  well  in  de  good  place.  Dat  switch  he 
tuck  and  tuck  home  wid  him. 

"  Den  he  go  ter  de  big  woods  an'  scrabble  roun'  twell  he  fine 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  183 

er  nut  drap  offen  one  dem  pignut  hick'ry  trees.  Dat  nut  he 
tuck  an'  tuck  home. 

"  Den  he  go  out  ter  de  fiel'  an'  he  git  some  hemp, 
an'  he  twis'  'im  er  good  stout  string,  an'  he  mek  er  slip- 
knot an'  loop  in  de  eend.  Den  he  tuck  an'  tuck  dat  string 
home. 

"  Den  w'en  de  day  git  good  an'  wa'm,  he  tuck  dem  t'ings  an* 
he  staht  out  ;  but  on  de  way  he  stop  nigh  de  crik  an'  cut  'im 
lil  paw -paw  (some  say  ash  instead  of  paw-paw)  lim',  an'  he 
mek  lil  hole  in  dat  lil  pignut,  an'  he  stick  hit  on  de  eend  o'  dat 
lil  lim'. 

"  Den  he  go  roun'  by  de  haw  trees,  dat  got  de  grapevines 
clamberin'  onter  um,  an'  he  git  er  lil  daid  curleycue  (tendril) 
offen  de  grapevine,  an'  he  set  down  an'  he  buil'  er  lil  fiah  outen 
daid  leabes,  an'  he  hole  de  eend  ob  de  curleycue  in  de  fiah  twell 
hit  buhn  ri'  brack.  Dat  brack  eend  he  tek  an'  mahk  wid  hit  dat 
lil  pignut  twell  hit  look  foh  all  de  worl'  lak  er  lil  pickaninny's 
haid.  He  mek  lil  mahk  foh  de  eyes  an'  de  winkehs  an'  de 
nose  an'  de  mouf  an'  all  ;  an'  w'en  he  git  dat  done,  he  wrop  er 
nice  lil  rabbit-skin  roun'  dat  paw-paw  lim',  an'  he  say,  '  Dar 
now  !  ain't  I  got  de  nice,  fine  baby  ! '  an'  he  cut  er  pidgin-wing, 
an'  he  sing — 

'  Byo  baby-buntin', 
Yo'  daddy  gwine  a-huntinV* 

An*  he  sholy  wuz  gwine  a-huntin',  kase  luck-huntin'  am  de 
bigges'  kine  ob  huntin'  dey  is,  ef  yo'  s'arch  up  one  side  ob  de 
yeath  an'  down  de  turr. 

"W'en  he  git  de  baby  done,  he  tuck  hit  in  de  one  han'  an* 

1  I  think  that  this  is  probably  the  original  of  the  Tar  Baby,  because  it  cor- 
responds more  closely  to  the  making  of  the  magical  mannikin  as  found  in 
European  sorcery.  Thus  in  England  it  is  made  by  putting  a  "  fairy  head  " 
(stone,  echinus)  on  a  tiny  body  (MS.  charms),  and  in  Italy  with  a  distaff.  Its 
object  is  the  same  in  all,  to  defeat  or  act  counter  to  witches  and  evil  spirits, 
&c.— C.  G.  L. 


184  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

de  hazel  switch  in  de  turr,  an*  sot  out  ter  hunt  er  rattlesnake  ; 
an'  bimeby  he  corned  'cross  er  big  sassy  young  one,  quile  up 
(coiled  up)  on  er  hooraw-nes'  (hurrah's  nest — an  accumulation 
of  leaves  made  by  wind  and  water  at  the  edge  of  a  stream),  an' 
a-takin'  er  snooze.  Ole  Rabbit  he  crope  up,  he  did,  thu  de 
weeds  an  briehs,  an'  w'en  he  git  closte  nuff — spang  ! — he  run 
dat  paw-paw  lim'  outen  de  bresh  des  ez  quick  !  an'  he  stick  dat 
pignut  face  right  at  de  eye  ob  Misteh  Rattlesnake  !  Suz,  dat 
rowge  (roused)  up  Misteh  Rattletail,  an'  my  !  ef  he  wuzzent  de 
maddes' ! 

"  *  Cuss  de  impunce  ob  dat  lil  sassy  niggeh ! '  sez  'e,  and 
wid  dat — smack  ! — he  hit  dat  pignut  pickaninny  de  bigges'  lick  ! 

"  Hit  wuz  er  las'-yeah's  pignut,  honey,  an'  de  fros'  an'  de 
rain  done  mek  hit  mo'  sorf  den  er  dis  yeah's  nut,  so  Misteh 
Rattletail  done  stick  he  two  toofses  (he  am'  got  but  des  two, 
an'  dey  des  a-front  de  pizon-bag),  he  done  stick  um  inter  dat 
ole  nut  an'  dey  won't  come  out.  Dar  dey  wuz,  tight  an'  fas'. 
Den  Ole  Rabbit  he  run  up,  an'  he  slip  dat  string  wid  de  slip- 
knot roun'  Misteh  Rattletail'  neck  twell  he  mos'  choke  'im, 
an'  he  lash  'im  fas'  ter  de  paw-paw  lim'.  Den  he  tek  a-holt 
ob  he  tail,  an'-den  don't  Ole  Chuffy  go  a-singin'  an'  a-whustlin' 
'long  de  parf  dat  lead  ter  de  pond.  Wen  he  git  dar,  he  fling 
in  de  lim'  wid  Misteh  Rattletail  'pun  hit,  an'  hit  stick  fas' 
at  de  bottom  an'  don't  come  up  ;  ef  hit  come  up  hit  sp'ile 
de  luck,  kase  dat  de  p'int,  dat  yo'  th'ow  in  er  libe  rattlesnake 
by  de  tail,  an'  de  las'  blubbeh  dat  come  up  ef  de  snake  lodge, 
dat  am  de  silbeh  blubbeh,  an'  yo'  boun'  ter  ketch  hit  on  de 
forky  switch. 

"  Wen  dat  snake  stick  on  de  bottom,  Ole  Chuffy  he  tek  de 
switch  an'  hole  hit  wid  de  fawk  eend  out  obeh  de  pond.  He 
watch  dez  ez  keen  ez  ef  he  got  de  eye  ob  er  snake  he  own  se'f. 
He  watch  de  blubbehs  twell  dey  come  slow  an'  scatt'in  ;  den 
he  haht  ri'  in  he  mouf,  he  dat  feahrin  dat  he  miss  de  right  one. 

"  One  come  by  hitse'f. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


185 


"He  retch  out. 

"  Hit  bus'. 

"  He  mos'  fit  ter  cry. 

"  One  mo'  come. 

"  He  retch— quick  !  He  slip  de  fawk  unneat  hit  !  He  lif '  hit 
up  !  He  dror  hit  in  !  Hit  slip  ! — O-o-ow  ! — Hit  mos'  fal 
back  !  Now  he  got  um  !  Hi !  he  grab  um  in  de  han'  !  Dat 
de  silbeh  blubbeh,  sho  nuff!  soun'  er  (as  a)  rock  an'  shinin' 
lak  er  chunk  ob  de  moon.  Hooray  !  Hoo-hoo-hooray  ! 


"  HE   SLIP    DE    FAWK    UNNEAT   HIT  !      NOW    'E   GOT    UM  !  " 

"  Hit  tek  Ole  Rabbit,  arter  all, 
Ter  beat  vv'ite  folks  an'  git  de  ball  !  " 

The  story  of  the  silver  ball  inspired  Granny  to  relate  one  she 
called:— 

DE  TALE  OB  DE  GOL'EN  BALL. 

"  In  de  ole,  ole  times,  ole  man  gwine  'long  de  big  road.  Ole 
man  lame,  ole  man  raggeddy,  old  man  mons'us  dry,  ole  man 
mons'us  hongry.  See  lil  cabin  down  HI  lane  dat  run  inter 
de  big  road.  Po'  ole  man  go  up  ter  de  do\  knock  wid  he  hanu 
knock  wid  he  stick. 


1 86  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

II  De  do'  open,  man  come  out. 

II 1  Wut  yo'  want,  ole  man  ?  ' 

"  Lemme  set  down  on  de  bench  by  de  do*,  an'  gimme  er 
gode  o'  watteh  an'  er  lil  hunk  o'  cawn-pone  (maize-bread  ; 
Algonkin,/fl#,  bread).  Ise  ole,  Ise  lame,  Ise  dry,  Ise  hongry,  Ise 
plum  wo'  out.' 

"  Man  dunno.     He  scratch  de  haid,  he  roll  de  eye. 

"  'Ooman  in  de  house  holler  out — 

"  '  Gib  de  ole  man  de  butteh-milk  outen  de  crock,  an'  de 
wusseh-meat  (sausage-meat)  outen  de  pan.' 

Man  git  de  beggeh-mari  de  butteh-milk  in  de  crock  an'  de 
wusseh-meat  in  de  pan.  He  drink  de  milk,  he  lick  de  crock. 
He  eat  de  meat,  he  lick  de  pan.  He  grunt,  he  groan,  he  stretch 
hisse'f. 

11 '  Oh  !  gimme  er  whuff  mm  yo'  pipe,'  sez  'e. 

"  Man  scratch  de  haid,  he  roll  de  eye.     He  dunno,  he  say. 

"  'Ooman  holler  out — 

"  Oh  !  tek  de  backy  fum  de  pouch  ;  oh !  tek  de  pipe  fum  off 
de  jamb  an'  gib  de  po'  ole  man  er  whuff.' 

"  Man  he  do  des  wut  she  say. 

"  Beggeh-man  say — 

"  ( Gimme  er  fiah-coal.1 

"  Man  git  de  fiah-coal. 

"  Beggeh-man  light  de  pipe  an'  hole  de  fiah-coal  in  he  han*. 
Den  he  smoke  an'  smoke  de  backy  all  erway.  He  bat  de  eye, 
he  grin  de  mouf,  an'  lean  ergin  de  cabin  wall. 

"Fiah-coal  buhn  dar  all  de  time  right  in  he  han'. 

"  He  ain't  keer  ef  hit  do  buhn.  He  bat  de  eye,  he  grin  de 
mouf,  he  lean  ergin  de  cabin  wall. 

"  Man  stan'  dar  in  de  do'  an'  watch. 

"  Bimeby  de  pickaninny  squall. 

"  Beggeh-man  stan'  up. 

"  '  Is  dat  er  mouse  I  hyeah  ?  '  sez  'e. 

"  (  Oh  !  dat's  my  darter,  one  day  ole.1 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  187 

"  *  Oh  !  do  huh  ha'r  shine  lak  de  gole  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  no  !  a  niggeh-chile  am  she.' 

"  « Oh  !  fetch  huh  hyeah  an'  lemme  see.1 

"  *  Huh  mammy  won't  'low  dat  at  all.' 

" l  Oh  !  fetch  huh  hyeah  ter  git  ball/ 

"  Wid  dat,  de  ole  beggeh-man  he  swaller  dat  fiah-coal  an'  spit 
urn  right  up,  an'  dar  twuz  ! — er  HI  gole  ball  wid  er  yalleh  string. 

"  Den  de  man  fetch  lil  kinkey-haid,  an'  de  beggeh-man  he 
fling  de  string  roun'  'er  neck  an'  de  ball  hit  fall  gin  er  breas'. 

"  Den  de  beggeh-man  he  up  an'  git  (departed),  an'  how  he 
go  dat  man  kyarn't  tell.  He  look  ter  lef,  he  look  ter  right,  dat 
beggeh-man  clean  out  o'  sight.  Den  de  man  tek  de  chile  ter 
'er  mammy,  an'  den  he  run  down  de  lane. 

"  Look  dishaway,  look  dataway  !     See  nuttin  ! 

"Run  ter  de  big  road.  Look  up  de  road,  look  down  de 
road  !  See  nuttin  ! 

"  Run  back  ter  de  mammy  an*  de  chile. 

" ( Oh,  gimme  back  dat  golen  ball  !  Dat  beggeh-man  he 
cunjer,  all.  He  trick  dat  chile  ;  she  boun'  ter  die.' 

"He  raise  dat  chile  ter  retch  de  string.  Oh  !  how  dat  chile 
done  change  an'  grow.  Huh  ha'r  hit  hang  'way  down  huh 
back,  hit  hang  ez  straight  ez  cawn-silk  too  ;  hit  tuhn  ez  yalleh 
ez  de  ball.  Huh  skin  hit  tuhn  ez  w'ite  ez  milk. 

"  *  Oh,  leabe  de  ball  ! '  de  mammy  say. 

"  De  man  he  'gree  unter  dat  too.  He  laff  an'  darnce  ter 
see  dat  chile.  He  say,  '  Don't  nevveh  break  dat  string.' 

"  De  mammy  'gree  unter  dat  too. 

"  De  chile  she  grow  an'  grow  an'  grow. 

"De  mammy,  den,  she  up  an'  die. 

"  Er  Oby-'ooman  p'izon  huh. 

"  De  Oby-'ooman  merry  'im  (married).  She  beat  de  gal,  she 
tell  'm  lie  ;  she  try  ter  steal  de  gol'en  ball,  an'  w'en  she  fine 
kyarn't  do  dat,  she  slip  ahine  dat  milk-w'ite  gal  an'  cut  in 
she  two  dat  yalleh  string. 


188  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Dat  ball  hit  fall  inter  de  grass. 

"  Dat  milk-w'ite  gal  she  tuhn  right  brack.  Huh  ha'r  hit 
swivel  up  in  kinks,  hit  tuhn  right  brack,  hit  shine  no  mo'. 
De  po'  brack  gal,  she  gun  ter  cry. 

"  De  folks  run  up,  dey  don't  know  huh. 

"  De  Oby  squall— 

"  '  Yo'  kilt  ou1  chile  ! ' 

"  De  folks  dey  say— 

"Yo'sholydid!' 

"  De  po'  brack  gal,  she  cry  an'  cry. 

"  Dey  tek  dat  gal,  dey  tie  huh  fas1. 

"  She  say,  *  I  nuvveh  kilt  no  gal  1  I  wuz  dat  milk-w'ite  gal 
yo'  hed ! ' 

"  Dey  pay  no  'tenshun  ter  dat  wuhd.  Dey  git  de  chain,  dey 
git  de  rope,  dey  buil'  er  gallus-tree  up  high. 

'*  De  po'  brack  gal,  she  cry  an'  cry. 

"  Huh  daddy  come. 

«  She  call  at  'im— 

" (  O,  daddy,  fine  dat  gol'en  ball,  ur  yo'  see  me  hang  'pun  de 
gallus-tree  ! ' 

"  De  man  go  by. 

"  De  Oby  come. 

"' '  O,  mammy,  fine  dat  gol'en  ball,  ur  yo'  see  me  hang  'pun 
de  gallus-tree  ! ' 

"  Oby  go  by  ! 

"  Huh  beau,  he  come. 

"  *  Beau,  beau,  fine  dat  gol'en  ball,  ur  yo'  see  me  hang  'pun 
de  gallus-tree !  ' 

14  Beau  go  by. 

"  Den  all  de  folks  go  by,  go  home,  don't  hunt  de  ball.  Dey 
spec  she  die  'pun  de  gallus-tree. 

"  Ole  beggeh-man,  he  bline,  he  lame.  He  stop.  He  say,  '  I 
save  dat  gal.  I  save  huh  mm  de  gallus-tree.' 

"  Beggeh-man  hole  out  de  gol'en  ball. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  189 

u  She  won't  die  on  de  gallus-tree. 

"  He  han'  'er  back  de  golen  ball,  he  tell  de  tale,  he  show  de 
t'ief. 

"  Oby,  she  die  'pun  de  gallus-tree. 

"  Beau,  he  see  de  milk-w'ite  gal,  he  ketch  'er  wais',  he  try  ter 
buss. 

"  '  Go  'way,  beau,  yo'  want  I  die  'pun  de  gallus-tree.' 

"  Daddy  come  up,  he  say,  *  Come  home.' 

"  Milk-w'ite  gal,  she  tuhn  de  back. 

"  *  Daddy,  I  kyarn't.     Yo'  mek  me  'feard  de  gallus-tree.' 

"Beggeh-man  change,  he  putty,  now  (he  had  become  beau- 
tiful), an'  oh  !  he  save  huh  fum  de  gallus-tree.  He  tek  de  gal 
by  huh  w'ite  han',  he  lead  huh  pas'  de  gallus-tree. 

"  De  folks  squall  out,  '  Come  back  1  come  back !  an'  we  pull 
down  de  gallus-tree.' 

"  De  man  an'  gal  go  on  an'  on.  Dey  lose  sight  ob  de  gallus- 
tree. 

"  De  hill,  hit  open  good  an'  wide.  Dey  bofe  go  thu  dat  big 
wide  crack.  Dey  done  fegit  de  gallus-tree. 

"  De  hill,  hit  shet  closte  up  ergin. 

"  *  Good-bye,  good  folks  an'  gallus-tree  ! » " 

So  inspiriting  was  this  finale  that  everybody  began  to  sing 
and  "jump  Jim  Crow,"  a  favourite  pastime  borrowed  from  the 
white  minstrels,  so  far  as  the  song,  but  not  so  far  as  the 
"  exercise  "  was  concerned. 

"  Fust  upun  de  heel  tap, 
Den  upun  de  toe. 
Ebry  time  you  tuhn  eroun 
You  jump  Jim  Crow. 
My  ole  mistis  told  me  so 
I'd  nebber  git  ter  Heb'n 
Ef  I  jump  Jim  Crow. 
Jump  Jim  Crow — oh, 
Jump  Jim  Crow. 
I'd  nebber  git  ter  Heb'n  ef  I  jump  Jim  Crow. 


XIII. 

HOW  THE   SKUNK  BECAME    THE    TERROR    OF  ALL 

LIVING    CREATURES— A    SHORT    CHAPTER 

FURNISHED   BY   BIG   ANGY. 

SKUNK  was  Catamount's  young  brother.  He  was  a  disgrace  to 
the  family  from  the  day  he  was  born.  He  was  sneaking,  he 
was  cowardly.  He  was  thievish  too,  for  that  matter.  He 
thought  more  of  getting  at  a  bird's  nest  and  stealing  a  few  half- 
rotten  eggs  than  of  seeking  and  overpowering  worthy  prey. 
He  gave  his  strength  to  catching  field-mice  and  even  grasshop- 
pers and  locusts.  Even  gophers  and  moles  despised  more  than 
they  feared  him.  Added  to  this,  he  was  the  most  impertinent 
and  insulting  little  beast  that  could  be  imagined  when  he  was 
in  a  safe  place  and  could  call  to  those  whom  he  wished  to 
affront  from  a  distance.  He  even  showed  disrespect  to  Grey 
Wolf. 

This  was  not  to  be  tolerated,  so  Grey  Wolf  called  all  the 
animals  together  and  demanded  to  know  what  should  be  done. 

With  one  voice,  the  answer  came — 

"  Destroy  him.     He  is  of  no  use  whatever." 

Now  Catamount  and  Black  Wolf  said  nothing.  Catamount 
could  not  excuse  and  would  not  condemn  his  brother.  Black 
Wolf  had  plans  of  his  own  for  the  culprit  to  carry  out. 

Grey  Wolf,  thinking  that  all  were  agreed,  was  about  to 
destroy  the  miserable  skunk,  but  the  contemptible  creature  flat- 
tened himself  out  at  the  feet  of  his  master  and  entreated  that 

190 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO,  191 

the  boon  of  life  might  be  spared  him,  no  matter  if  all  that 
adorned  and  made  it  pleasant  be  taken  away.  So  in  contempt, 
rather  than  kindness,  Grey  Wolf  spared  the  life  of  Skunk,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  shrunk  and  shrivelled  the  creature  till  he 
was  scarcely  larger  than  Gopher.  He  pared  his  claws  and 
shortened  his  teeth.  This  done,  the  other  animals  scornfully 
departed  without  taking  leave,  Catamount  going  next  after 
Grey  Wolf. 

Black  Wolf  had  only  gone  a  little  way  when  he  turned  and 
went  softly  back. 

"Be  of  good  cheer,  little  brother,"  he  said  to  the  dismayed 
Skunk.  "  Brother  Grey  Wolf  has  seen  fit 
to  arrange  matters  so  that  you  shall  be  in 
terror  of  all  things  breathing.  Now,  I 
come  to  put  all  things,  even  Grey  Wolf 
himself  in  awe  of  you." 

This  he  promised,  not  because  he  loved 
Skunk,  but  because  it  delighted  him  to 
thwart  the  intentions  of  Grey  Wolf.  BLACK  WOLF  BEHAVES 

Then    Skunk    lifted    up    his    head    and        LIKE  A  SKUNK. 
thanked  Black  Wolf,  and  asked — 

"  What  can  you  do  ?  My  strength  is  gone,  my  claws  are  as 
grass  and  my  teeth  as  willow-twigs." 

"  Watch  me,"  said  Black  Wolf. 

So  Skunk  watched  and  saw  Black  Wolf  take  an  egg  from  a 
deserted  nest  and  put  in  it  sweat  from  his  own  body,  the 
breath  of  a  buzzard,  wind  that  had  passed  over  the  field  where 
the  dead  still  lay  after  the  battle,  and  a  little  water  from  a 
green  pool.  When  he  had  stirred  these  things  together,  he 
gave  the  egg  to  Skunk  and  said — 

"  Wear  this,  and  you  shall  be  the  great  conqueror.  Your 
strongest  antagonists  shall  turn  sickly  and  feeble  before  you. 
Not  horns,  claws,  teeth,  sinews,  or  bulk  shall  make  any  differ- 
ence to  you." 


192  OLD  RABBIT,  THE   VOODOO. 

So  Skunk  took  the  gift  with  a  joyful  heart  and  tried  its 
power  on  Black  Wolf  at  once. 

Black  Wolf,  sick  and  howling,  fled  as  fast  as  he  was  able  from 
the  presence  of  the  ungrateful  Skunk  he  had  so  terribly 
endowed. 

Then  Skunk  knew  for  a  certainty  that  Black  Wolf  had  told 
him  the  truth  about  the  gift,  so  he  set  out  to  find  his  revilers 
and  drive  them  before  him.  When  he  found  them,  they  fled, 
every  one,  from  least  to  greatest. 

Then  Skunk  contentedly  laid  himself  down  under  a  tree  and 
went  to  sleep. 


SKUNK. 


XIV. 


MORE  RABBIT  TALES. 

WAS  very  late  when  Tow  Head  and 
Aunt  Mymee  made  their  appear- 
ance in  the  cabin.  The  little  girl 
*~*  had  caused  the  delay.  To  be  quite 
candid,  she  and  her  mother  had  had  certain  differ- 
ences of  opinion  at  the  supper-table,  and  Aunt 
Mymee  had  obligingly  waited  until  she  recovered  from  the 
effect  of  them. 

"Yessum,"  they  heard  Aunt  Em'ly  say  as  they  entered, 
"  hit  wuz  hot  an'  dry  dat  yeah,  hit  sholy  wuz.  De  cawn  fiahed 
w'en  'twuzzen'  skusely  up  ter  de  fence-tops  ;  hit  wuz  laid  by 
'fo'  de  summeh  wuz  out,  an'  no  mo'n  harf  er  crap  at  de  bes', 
but  Ian'  sakes  !  'twuzzen'  so  bad  but  hit  mought  a-bin  wusseh. 
Hit  mought  a-bin  des  lak  'twuz  dat  time  w'en  de  big  watteh- 
frog  git  mad  at  de  w'ite  folks  an'  hilt  back  all  de  watteh." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Em'ly  !  when  was  that  ?  "  cried  the  child, 
throwing  herself  into  the  story-teller's  arms  and  beginning  to 
caress  the  fat  black  cheek  she  unintentionally  bumped  with  her 
hard  little  head. 

"  Dat's  mannehs,  dat  am,"  said  Granny,  addressing  the  ceil- 
ing. "  I  wisht  Ole  Mistis  wuz  out  hyeah  ter  see  some  folks 
settle  down  in  de  house  ob  some  yuther  folks  an'  ne'er  say 
*  howdy,'  nur  nuttin.  Dat's  de  new-fangelums,  I  reckin  .  Dey 

14  191 


194  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

done  kim  in  long  sence  me  an'  Aunt  Mary  wuz  gals,  an'  so  we 
specs  noduss  (notice)  dat  we  don't  git.  Nemmine,  dough,  I 
gwine  ter  ax  Ole  Mistis  ef  dat's  wut  we  gotter  look  foh  fum  dis 
out,  kase  ef  'tis,  I  gwineter  ax  'er  ter  lemme  go  back  ter  Ole 
Feginny  an'  die  dar." 

Tow  Head  blushed,  hung  her  head  and  laughed  shame- 
facedly. 

"  E-scuse  me,  Granny,"  she  said.  "  I  was  so  late  that  I  was 
afraid  all  the  stories  were  told,  and  when  I  heard  Aunt  Em'ly 
just  beginning  one  I  was  so  pleased  that  I  forgot  everything 
else.  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Granny,  I've  had  such  a  lot  of 
trouble — I'm  just  like  the  people  Grandpa  reads  about  in  the 
Bible  who  are/z///  of  trouble." 

A  heart  ol  stone  might  have  been  melted  by  this  doleful 
explanation,  and  Granny's  heart  was  anything  but  stony.  She 
accepted  the  apology,  paid  for  it  generously  with  a  fine  large 
gingerbread  star,  and  motioned  Aunt  Em'ly  to  proceed. 

"  Dat  time,  honey,  wuz — dar  now  !  I  done  fegit  de  prezack 
day,  but  'twuz  in  de  ole  times.  Shuck  ?  wut  de  use  ter  tell 
hit.  Hit  sech  er  ole  tale  an'  bin  gwine  de  roun's  dat  long  dat 
hit  a-gittin'  all  frazzle  out." 

"  /don't  know  it,  Aunt  Em'ly." 

"  Den  I  betteh  hed  tell  um,  chile,  kase  ef  yo'  see  er  watteh- 
dawg,  yo'  des  betteh  know  de  way  ter  ack." 

"  I  thought  'twas  a  water-frog." 

"  Bofe,  honey,  bofe." 

u  Des  let  Aunt  Em'ly  run  dat  tale  'cordin*  uv  huh  noshins, 
honey.  Too  menny  spoons  in  de  cake-dough  mek  hit  fall." 

"  Very  well,  but  what  is  a  water-dog  ?  " 

"  Hit  des  er  watteh-dawg.  'Taint  no  frog,  nur  no  lizuhd,  nur 
no  tadpole.  Hit  des  hit  ownse'f,  an'  hit  keep  de  runnin'  watteh 
runnin'.  Injun  know.  Injun  lef  um  'lone.  Ef  'e  run  up  'gin 
um,  say  '  howdy,  howdy,  uncle,'  an'  go  'long  'gin.  Cullehd 
man  de  same  t'ing." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  195 

"  W'ite  man  come. 

u  W'ite  man  see  watteh-dawg. 

"  *  Pooh  !  pooh  !  kyarn'  hab  no  watteh-dawg  a-spilin'  de 
well  wut  I  digs  ;  kyarn'  hab  no  watteh-dawg  a-flouncin'  in  de 
spring  whah  I  squinch  my  thurs  (thirst),  no  suz  ! ' 

"  W'ite  man  tek  er  big  rock,  smash  po'  watteh-dawg — Hat. 

"Den  de  big  frog  wut  lib  unneat  de  groun'  an'  own  all  de 
springs  an'  all  de  streams,  git  pow'ful  mad,  kase  watteh-dawg 
de  onles'  chile  o'  de  on'les'  darter  wut  he  hab.  So  den,  he 
blow  de  long  bref  out,  an'  de  wattehs,  dey  all  riz  an'  riz  an'  riz, 
an'  de  w'ite  folkses,  dey  mek  de  big  miration  an'  dey  say — 

"  (  My  !  de  watteh  mighty  high,  dis  yeah.  Dey  mus'  a-bin 
heaps  ob  snow  melt  'way  up  yondeh  in  de  mountains  an'  de 
hills  an'  run  down  inter  de  criks  an'  de  big  ribbeh  1  * 

"  Ole  Frog  hyeah  dat. 

"  Nemmine  !  he  ain't  gwine  ter  'spute  um.  He  des  show 
de  aige  o'  de  ax  w'en  hit  groun',  he  ain'  argyfy  'bout  de  grine- 
stun.  He  fetch  de  long  bref — in  \ 

"  Now,  whah  de  watteh  goned  ? 

"  W'ite  folks  look  dishaway,  w'ite  folks  look  data  way.  Whah 
de  watteh,  w'ite  folks  ? 

u  No — watteh — on — de — whole — -face — ob — de — yeath  \ 

11  W'ite  folks  hunt,  w'ite  folks  dig.  W'ite  folks  fine  nuttin. 
W'ite  folks  fetch  out  de  hazel  lim'.  Hazel  lim'  pint  des  one 
way.  Pint  ter  whah  de  big  frog'  shouldeh  stick  outen  de 
groun'  lak  er  big  rock.  W'ite  folks  see  nuttin.  Cuss  de  hazel 
lim',  cuss  de  dryness,  den  go  in  de  meetin'-house  an'  ax  de  good 
Lawd  ter  gin  um  rain  ;  but  de  rain  don'  come,  kase  Ole  Frog 
ten'  ter  dat.  He  des  hilt  up  he  haid  w'en  de  cloud  come  an' 
blow  hit  back  ter  T'undeh-Lan'.1 

"  All  de  cawn  dry  up,  all  de  grass  dry  up,  de  leabes  fall  offen 
de  trees  an'  all  de  beastises  run  up  an'  down  de  yeath  des 
a-hollerin'  an'  a-belterin'  foh  watteh. 

1  Thunder-land,  which  is  often  described  in  Red  Indian  legends. 


196  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

i(  W'ite-man  kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

44  Call  on  Injun-man.     Injun-man  kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

•<  <  W'ite-man,  W'ite-man,  w'y  don'  yo'  lef  de  dawg  erlone  ?f 

41  Call  on  Niggeh-man.     Niggeh-man  kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

"  (  W'ite-man,  I  ain'  got  no  cha'm  ter  fetch  de  watteh  back. 
W'ite-man,  W'ite-man,  w'y  don'  yo'  lef  de  dawg  erlone  ?  * 

u  Call  on  Woodpeckeh.     Woodpeckeh  kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

"  ( W'ite-man,  W'ite-man,  w'y  don'  yo'  lef  de  dawg  erlone  ?  ' 

<{  Call  on  Rain-Crow.     Rain-Crow  kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

"  '  W'ite-man,  W'ite-man,  w'y  don'  yo'  lef  de  dawg  erlone  ?  ' 

"  Call  on  .Bracksnake.     Bracksnake  kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

" 4  W'ite-man,  W'ite-man,  w'y  don'  yo'  lef  de  dawg  erlone  ?  ' 

"  Call  on  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake.  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake 
kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

"  *  W'ite-man,  W'ite-man,  w'y  don'  yo'  lef  de  dawg  erlone  ?  ' 

"  Call  on  Crawfish.     Crawfish  kyarn'  do  nuttin. 

44  *  W'ite-man,  W'ite-man,  w'y  don'  yo'  lef  de  dawg  erlone  ?  ' 

44  All  dat  time,  Ole  Rabbit,  he  a-sleepin  some'ers,  but  'bout 
dat  minnit,  de  dryness  an'  de  hotness  wek  'im  up,  an1  de  fus' 
t'ing  he  hyeah  am  de  moanin'  an'  de  groanin'  ob  de  man  an* 
de  bawlin'  an'  de  bellerin'  an'  de  growlin'  an'  de  gruntin'  an'  de 
squallin'  an'  de  squealin'  ob  de  crittehs. 

"  ( Hi  yi,  dar ! '  say  he.  '  Wassermasser  (what's  the  matter) 
wid  de  crittehs  an'  de  beastises  ?  ' 

"  Den  he  fetch  er  gap  dat  mos'  t'ar  'im  open  an'  den  he  rub 
de  eye  an'  scratch  de  yeah  an'  set  up.  Den  he  stretch  hisse'f 
an'  gap  some  mo'  an'  look  roun'.  Dat  mek  'im  jump  1  Yes- 
suh  !  He  jump  up  an'  run  roun',  a-lookin'  an'  a-starin*. 

" '  Ki  yi !  wut  dis  ?  '  he  say. 

<(  Den  dey  wuz  de  bigges'  hollerin'. 

" ( We  all  gwine  ter  pe'sh  offen  de  face  ob  de  yeath,  kase 
W'ite  man  won'  lef  de  dawg  erlone,'  say  de  crittehs. 

"  «  Wut  dawg  ?  '  ax  Rabbit. 

41  *  Watteh-dawg,'  sez  dey. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 

Wut  'e  done  ter  um  ?  '  sez  'e. 
Kill  um,'  sez  dey. 


197 


"DEN  DEY  SH'ET  UP  AN'  WATCH  'IM,  W'ILES  'E  LOOK  ON  DE  GROUN'  AN 


WUHK   HE   MINE. 


195  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Den  he  slap  hisse'f  an'  cuss. 

"  Den  all  de  crittehs  dey  moan  an'  dey  groan,  dey  bawl  an' 
dey  beller,  dey  squall  an'  dey  squeal. 

** '  Shet  up  !  '  say  he,  '  an'  lemme  hyeah  my  mine  wuhk.' 

11  Den  dey  shet  up  an'  watch  'im,  w'iles  'e  look  on  de  groun' 
an  wuhk  he  mine. 

"  Bimeby  he  look  up. 

"  *  Is  enny  yo'  folks  see  de  big  frog  an'  ax  'im,  please  suh,  let 
de  watteh  go  ? — Shuh  !  wut  I  a-sayin'  ?  Co'se  yo'  done  dat.' 

"  Dey  all  hang  de  haid.  No,  dey  ain'  ax  Ole  Frog.  Dey  ain' 
done  nuttin. 

"  Ole  Rabbit,  he  sniff,  he  snurl  up  de  nose,  he  wuhk  de 
whiskehs. 

"  *  Huh  ! '  sez  'e,  *  w'en  I  want  er  sup  o'  watteh,  I  want  um. 
I  want  um  bad,'  sez  'e,  '  an'  mo'n  dat,  dough  I  ain't  kim  ob  de 
wust  o*  famblies — ef  dey's  enny  ob  de  harf-strainehs  dat  am 
Rabbits,  nobody  ain'  name  hit  unter  me — I  ain't  dat  proud  but 
I  ax  foh  um,'  sez  'e,  *  an'  ax  fob  um  putty,  too,'  sez  'e. 

" '  We  ain't  'quaint  wid  Ole  Frog,'  says  dey,  a-lookin' 
foolish. 

"  ( Yo'  ain't  gwine  ter  git  'quaint  wid  no  watteh,  ne'er,  at  dese 
rates,'  sez  'e,  a-th'owin'  up  he  chin  an'  a-sniffin'  mo'  an'  mo'. 

"  '  We  ain'  know  whah  we  kin  fine  'im,'  sez  dey,  sorter 
'scusin'-lak. 

"  '  Shucks  !  *  sez  Rabbit,  *  I  lay  I  ain't  gwine  ter  wait  twell 
Ole  Frog  sens  er  niggeh  on  hoss-back  wid  er  eenvite  ter  drap 
roun'  ter  dinneh,  w'iles  my  thote  a-pa'chin'  erway  ter  meal-dus'. 
I  gwine  ter  hunt  'im  up  de  w'iles  I  got  de  strenk.' 

"  Den  Rabbit  he  sot  out. 

"  All  de  turr  crittehs  dey  foller  'long  ahine. 

"  Rabbit  he  keep  a-goin'  an  a-goin'  up  stream — dat  am  whah 
de  stream  uster  wuz.  Bimeby  he  come  ter  de  top  whah  de  big 
spring  otter  be. 

"  No  spring  dar  !     Nuttin  dar  cep  er  big,  green,  spotty  rock. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  199. 

"  'Hi  dar  ! '  sez  Rabbit,  sez  'e,  '  Ebenin',  Misteh  Frog.' 

"  Nuttin  say  nuttin. 

"  4  Frog  ain't  dar,'  say  all  de  crittehs,  an'  dey  gun  ter  whimple, 
dey  feel  so  bad. 

"  '  Ebenin',  Misteh  Frog,'  say  Ole  Rabbit,  grinnin'  sorter  dry 
an'  ginnin'  dat  ole  rock  er  lil  nudge  wid  he  walkin'-cane,  'ebenin', 
ebenin'.' 

"  De  big  rock  roll  obeh.  My  !  dey  wuz  er  scattimint  (scatter- 
ing) ob  de  crittehs,  dat  quick  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Em'ly,  illus- 
trating her  statement  with  a  snap  of  her  fingers.  "  Whoo  ! 
Yessuh  ! — an'  whyso  ? — Kase  dat  spotty,  green  rock  wuz  des 
er  piece  ob  de  back  ob  Ole  Frog. 

"  '  Wut  yo'  war-rr-rr-nt  ?  '  sez  Ole  Frog,  sez  'e,  an'  hit  soun' 
lak  de  rollin'  o'  de  t'undeh-balls  'crost  de  sky." 

"  Floppin'de  wings  ob  de  t'undeh-buhds,"1  corrected  Big  Angy. 

"  *  Oh,  nuttin  much !  '  say  Ole  Rabbit,"  continued  Aunt 
Em'ly,  smoothly.  "  '  Oh,  nuttin  much,  Misteh  Frog,'  sez  'e, 
a-stannin'  on  one  laig  an'  a-nibblin'  de  top  ob  he  walkin'-cane 
sorter  keerless.  *  I  des  thunk  I'd  drap  roun'  an'  ax  yo'  foh  er 
sup  o'  watteh,'  sez  'e,  *  I  don'  spec  er  big  man  lak  yo'se'f  done 
noduss  lil  t'ing  lak  dat,'  sez  'e,  *  but  de  facks  ob  de  matteh  am 
dat  dey  ain't  no  watteh  a-comin'  down  todes  whah  I  lib,  an'  hit 
am  a-gittin'  sorter  dry  down  dar — mighty  dry,  ter  tell  de  troof. 
JDeed  my  gyarden  am  a-lookin'  mighty  bad.  Hit  look  mo'  lak 
de  las'  o'  pea-time  den  de  fust  o'  truck-time,'  sez  'e,  a-fetchin' 
er  grin,  '  an'  ef  yo'll  gimme  er  sup  o*  watteh  an'  den  tuhn  loose 
lil  mo'  an'  let  'er  run  down  er  past  de  gyarden,  I'll  be  erbleege 
ter  yo','  sez  'e,  '  an'  mo'n  dat,  I'll  sen'  yo'  de  fust  mess  o'  truck 
dat  I  pick,'  sez  'e. 

"  At  dat,  Ole  Frog,  he  gin  er  cr-r-r-o-o-o-oak  !  dat  far  heabe 
up  de  groun',  an'  sont  de  turr  crittehs  a-runnin'  down  de  holler 
fit  ter  split  de  win',  but  Ole  Rabbit  he  hole  he  groun',  he  do. 

"Ole  Frog,  he  roll  clean  turr  side  up  an'  show  he  des  a-bust- 

1  Thunder-bird.  The  Algonkin  spirit  of  the  storm.    A  great  eagle. — C.  G.  L. 


200  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

in*  wid  de  watteh  he  a-holin'  back,  kase  he  got  he  mouf  ergin 
de  deep  springs  an*  a-pluggin'  un  um  up. 

u  *  Wut  I  a-keerin'  foh  yo'  truck  ?  '  sez  'e,  an'  he  v'ice  des 
boom,  *  ain'  yo'  kilt  my  gran'son  ?  ' 

"  *  No,  I  ain't,'  sez  Ole  Rabbit,  sez  'e.  '  I  ain'  kill  nuttin. 
Mist  eh  W'ite-man  hed  de  bad  luck  ter  tread  on  'im,  an'  Ise 
mighty  sorry  foh  dat,  I  is  so,  but  Ian' !  'tain't  so  bad  arter  all. 
Des  fetch  me  de  pieces  un  'im  an'  I  'low  I  kin  cunjer  um  libe 
ergin.' 

"  '  Don'  want  none  o'  yo'  cunjerin','  holler  out  Ole  Frog, 
a-tuhnin'  he  haid  'way  fum  de  deep  springs  soster  holler  wusser 
an'  skeer  Ole  Rabbit  bad. 

"  Dad  minnit,  de  watteh  ob  de  springs  bust  out  an'  staht 
down  dat  lone,  dry  baid  ob  de  stream. 

"  Seein'  dat,  Ole  Frog  gin  er  nurr  cr-r-r-o-o-oak  !  an'  staht 
foh  ter  stop  um,  but  Ole  Rabbit,  he  ain'  tek  no  han'  in  a-he'pin' 
dat  out.  He  ain'  bin  projeckin'  roun'  wid  de  ruff  ob  he  moui 
all  frizzle  inter  cracklins  an'  de  sole  ob  he  foot  buhn  brack  fum 
tetchin'  de  groun'  an'  'joy  hiss'ef  'nufF  ter  keep  hit  up  study. 
No,  no,  suhs  !  no,  no  !  De  time  done  come  ter  stop  all  dat 
triberlashun  an'  Rabbit  de  man  dat  gwine  ter  do  hit.  He  up 
wid  he  walkin'-cane,  he  do,  an'  he  job  it  eenside  de  jaws  ob  Ole 
Frog  an'  hole  hit  dar,  an'  de  cool,  cool,  watteh,  hit  run  an'  hit 
run.  Hit  run  hyeah  an'  dar  an'  evvywhurs,  an'  Ole  Frog,  he 
kyarn'  git  he  jaws  shet  an'  stop  hit,  ne'er. 

"  Bimeby,  de  walkin'-cane  huht  dem  big  jaws,  so  Ole  Frog 
he  'gin  ter  baig  ;  den  he  gin  ter  plead  ;  den  he  'gin  ter  prom- 
uss,  sartin  sho,  hope  he  die  ef  he  broke  um  'tall,  dat  he  ain't 
ne'er  gwine  ter  plug  up  de  deep  springs  no  mo'  an'  he  ain' 
gwine  ter  blow  back  de  clouds  an'  rain  no  mo'  an'  he  gwine  ter 
'have  hisse'f  all  roun'.  So  Ole  Rabbit,  he  tuck  de  walkin'-cane 
outen  Ole  Frog'  jaws,  an'  dat  walkin'-cane,  hit  suttinly  done 
galded  dem  jaws  (made  the  scars)  in  de  cornders  an'  dis  hyeah  tale 
kin  prube  hitse'f  in  dat,  kase  dey  ain'  ter  dis  day  er  frog  dat  ain' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


201 


202  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO, 

got  dem  se'fsame  mahk  in  de  cornders  o'  he  mouf  an'  he  wuhk 
he  mouf  des  lak  Ole  Frog,  he  gran'daddy,  do  w'en  he  feel  dat 
walkin'-cane,  an'  dat  trick  he  sholy  do  git  fum  Ole  Frog. 
Yessuhs  !  Ole  Rabbit  he  tuck  de  walkin'-cane  outen  de  jaws, 
an'  Ole  Frog  he  gin  he  promuss  true,  but  'twuz  'bout  de  big 
springs.  He  ain't  mek  no  promuss  'tall  'bout  de  lil  springs  an' 
de  wells  an'  de  cistuns,  so  ef  yo'  see  nurr  watteh-dawg,  foh 
Gord'  sake  lef  um  'lone  !  "  J 

After  nodding  an  emphatic  endorsement  of  Aunt  Em'ly.'s 
statement,  Big  Angy  volunteered  to  tell  another  story  illustra- 
tive of  Rabbit's  power  as  a  "  witcher-man,"  and  at  once  related 
the  tale  of — • 

RABBIT  AND  THE  OLD  WOMEN. 

"  One  time  in  the  old  time,  as  Rabbit  was  going  along  hunt- 
ing for  some  fun,  he  saw  some  old  women  heating  some  large 
round  stones  among  the  coals  of  a  great  fire.  They  had  a  great 
earthen  crock,  half-full  of  water,  sitting  a  little  to  one  side,  so, 
as  he  thought  this  looked  like  the  old-time  way  of  getting  ready 
to  cook  something,  and  as  he  was  hungry,  he  wished  very  much 
to  know  what  they  were  going  to  do.  He  found  himself  very 
hungry  and  getting  every  moment  more  anxious  for  food,  so  he 
said — 

"  *  Maybe  they  are  making  ready  to  stew  something  that  T 
will  like.  If  I  find  they  are,  I  will  ask  for  a  share.  Come  !  let 
me,  at  once,  put  my  name  in  the  dinner-pot.' 

(u  To  put  one's  name  in  the  dinner-pot,"  is  a  common  form 
of  the  "  folk  "  for  "  self-invited  to  a  meal.") 

u  He  went  towards  them,  making  no  sound  with  his  feet,  and 
warning  the  grass  not  to  tattle.  He  had  a  wish  to  surprise  them. 

"  Before  he  could  startle  them  with  a  call,  they  mentioned 
his  name,  saying — 

1  This  story  is  a  variant  from  the  Algonkin  Indian  legend  of  Glooskap  and 
the  Great  Frog.— C.  G.  L. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  203 

" c  This  for  you,  my  Cousin  Rabbit  1  Tee-hee  !  tee-hee  !  * 
laughing  as  old  women  do. 

"  When  he  heard  them  he  dropped  down  among  the  little 
bushes  and  grass,  and  waited  to  see  whether  the  next  words 
would  be  friendly  or  not.  They  were  not,  they  were  far  other- 
wise. It  was  well  for  Rabbit  that  he  heard  them  at  the  moment 
he  was  about  to  make  himself  known.  The  old  women  were 
telling  each  other  how,  when  their  husbands  and  sons  came  in 
with  Rabbit,  whom  they  were  hunting  with  *  cunjered  '  arrows, 
he  should  be  divided,  piece  by  piece,  and  stewed  in  the  crock 
with  the  hot  stones.  All  were  to  eat  of  him  and  thus  secure 
his  fleetness,  cunning,  and  *  strength  of  head.' 

"  '  We  shall  see  !  '  whispered  Rabbit  to  himself,  as  he  walked 
out  of  the  brush  and  up  to  them,  addressing  them  as  he  drew 
near  as  '  Grandmothers.' 

"  They  knew  not  what  to  say,  they  tried  to  seem  friendly, 
but  returned  his  greeting  with  faces  turned  away.  They  asked 
him  to  sit  between  them,  but  this  he  was  wise  enough  to  refuse. 
He  seated  himself  facing  them  and  looked  across,  pleasantly. 
After  a  silence  he  said — 

"  *  That  would  be  a  good  fire  to  sit  in.  Those  large  stones 
would  make  a  good  arm-chair.  Have  you  ever  tried  it,  my 
dear  Grandmothers  ? ' 

"  They  laughed  very  hard  at  this,  but  he  kept  on  talking 
about  it,  and  finally  wagered  his  body  against  theirs  that  he 
could  sit  in  the  fire  without  burning.  After  many  words,  it 
was  agreed  that  he  should  go  into  the  fire  and  sit  on  the  stones. 

"  If  he  was  burned  to  death,  his  roasted  body  should  belong  to 
them  ;  if  he  came  out  unscorched,  then  they  should  go  into  the 
flames  and  disport  themselves  among  the  glowing  rocks  and 
coals.  Both  parties  bound  themselves  to  this  agreement  by  an 
oath,  which  could  not  be  broken  because  it  had  words  of  magic 
in  it. 

"  The  old  women  watched  Rabbit  go  in  amongst  the  flames, 


204  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

which  flared  up  so  high  that  they  could  scarcely  catch  a  glimpse 
of  him,  but  they  laughed  again,  '  Tee-hee !  tee-hee  ! '  and 
talked  together. 

"  '  To  be  sure,'  said  they,  *  roast  rabbit  is  not  quite  such  fine 
eating  as  stewed  rabbit,  but  it  is  sensible  to  take  what  is  offered, 
especially  in  a  season  when  good  things  are  scarce  and  hunters 
unlucky,  so  we  will  not  throw  down  good  and  wait  for  better. 
Another  reason  for  allowing  this  fellow  to  cook  himself — it 
will  be  a  triumph  to  show  the  men  that  we,  the  old  and 
feeble  women,  have  taken  the  one  they  did  not  find.' 

11  While  they  were  whispering,  Rabbit  was  sitting  in  the  fire. 
He  seemed  quite  comfortable,  when  the  wind  blew  aside  the 
flame  and  allowed  a  glimpse  of  him,  and  so  he  was,  for  his 
magical  breath  kept  a  cool  place  all  around  him.  Not  one 
hair  was  singed. 

"  When  he  had  staid  until  the  sun  was  going  down,  and  the 
old  women  had  become  impatient  and  uneasy,  he  came  out  of 
the  fire  they  had  kept  hot  for  so  long,  and  bade  them  look  if 
he  were  harmed.  When  they  could  find  neither  scorch  nor 
blister,  he  reminded  them  of  their  oath. 

"  They  did  not  greatly  fear. 

"  l  What  he  can  do,  we  can  do,'  said  they. 

"  They  were  mistaken  as  to  their  powers.  They  fell  down  on 
the  coals  and  were  burnt  to  ashes— that  is,  all  of  them  but  a  few 
large  bones  that  served  very  well  for  drumsticks."1 

Everybody  made  a  great  "  miration "  over  the  tale,  but 
nobody  knew  what  anybody  said,  for  Aunt  Mary  went  into 
such  an  ecstasy  of  admiration  that  she  giggled  and  stamped 
till,  as  Granny  said,  "  de  whole  cabin  zooned  lak  Jedgmint-Day." 

*'  When  silence  like  a  poultice  came 
To  heal  the  blows  of  sound," 

Aunt  Em'ly  spoke. 

1  There  is  an  Algonkin  (Mic  Mac)  equivalent  for  this  in  the  story  of  the 
Great  Sorcerer  and  the  Porcupines. — C.  G.  L. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


205 


"  Dat  ain't  lak  de  time  w'en  Ole  Chuff  went  out  fob  ter  mek 
de  fight  ergin  de  sun." 

"Tell  dat  tale  unter  me,  Aunt  Em'ly,"  cried  Aunt  Mary, 
excitedly.  "  Yo'  done  tole  hit  wunst  a'ready,  but  de  main  p'int 
I  cl'ar  fegit." 

"  Hit  wuz  lak  dis,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  delightedly  : 
"  Ole  Rabbit,  he  bin  a-stirrin'  roun'  all  de  lib-long  night, 
a-tennin'  ter  some  o'  dem  cungerin1  tricks  ob  hissen,  an',  w'en 
de  mawnin  gun  ter  break,  he  wuz  plum  tuckehd  out,  an',  he 
lay  hisse'f  right  flat  down  on  de  perarer  an'  tuck  er  nap  dar 


"  OLE    SUN    'E    GIT   THU    'E   TRABBLIN*   AN'    RUN    HIDE." 
"  CRY   ONE   GR'A'    BIG   TEAH   ONTER   DAT   ARRER." 

"  Bimeby,  de  sun  git  putty  high  an'  see  Rabbit  dar  an'  des 
tuhn  loose  pun  'im,  kase  ob  all  de  t'ings  dat  he  mek,  Sun  got 
de  leases'  (least)  use  foh  Rabbit,  kase  Rabbit,  one  time,  he 
stole  Ole  Sun's  arrehs  w'en  he  back  wuz  tuhn." 

"  God  made  Rabbit,  the  sun  didn't,"  said  Tow  Head,  severely. 

"  Dat's  so,  honey,  dat's  des  de  Bible  troof,  now  time,  but 
dat  de  ole,  ole  time  Ise  torkin  bout,  an'  den,  Ole  Sun,  he 
suttin  shoh  do  mek  sumpin.  'Tain'  now,  dough,  honey,  no, 
suh  !  '•' 

"Oh!     Go  on,  please." 

"  Ole  Sun,  he  des  tuhn  loose  an'  he  go  fa'r  ter  fry  Ole  Rab- 


2o6  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

bit,  an'  dat  wek  up  de  ole  man  arter  w'iles,  an'  he  run  ter  de 
shade  ter  cool  he  back  an'  lick  he  blistehs  well.  Den  Ole  Sun, 
he  know  de  fat  am  in  de  fiah  an'  he  betteh  look  out.  Dat 
mek  'im  hurry  an'  hit  gin  de  folks  er  shawt  day  too,  kase  Ole 
Sun  git  thu  he  trabblin'  an'  run  hide. 

"  Nemmine  !  nemmine  !  Ole  Rabbit  gwine  ter  fine  'im. 

"  Arter  w'iles,  Ole  Rabbit  do  fine  'im  too,  an'  den  he  'low  he 
gwine  ter  shoot  'im,  an'  he  tuck  out  dem  se'f-same  arrehs,  Ole 
Rabbit  did,  dat  he  stole  dat  time  w'en  Ole  Sun  wuz  a-settin' 
down  by  de  slough  a-makin'  men-folks.  He  tuck  dem  arrehs 
dat  wuz  'longin'  unter  Sun  by  good  rights  an'  he  'low  he  gwine 
ter  kill  'im  wid  um. 

"  De  fust  arreh,  he  up  an'  spit  on  ter  mek  um  fly  good.  Den 
he  let  fly. 

"  Dat  arreh  flewed  inter  de  ribber. 

"  Tek  nurr  one.    Blow  on  dat  fob  ter  cha'm  um.    Blow  hahd. 

"  Dat  arreh  flewed  'way  'long  de  sky  an'  de  wins  (winds)  kyar 
um  off. 

"  Tek  nurr  one,  de  las'  one  ob  all.  Cry  one  gr'a'  big  teah 
(tear)  enter  dat  arreh.  Shoh  !  dat  des  boun'  ter  do  de  wuhk. 
So  hit  do  !  so  hit  do  !  Hit  fly  right  inter  de  sun.  Ole  Rabbit, 
he  jump  an'  he  holler,  he  so  gay  'bout  hit.1 

"Hole  on,  Ole  Man  Chuffy  !  hole  on  wid  dat  jumpin'  an' 
hollerin'  !  De  hot  blood  a-po'in'  down.  Hit  fiah,  de  blood  o' 
de  sun  am  ;  hit  fiah,  Ole  Man,  a-po'in'  down.  Fiah  !  fiah  ! 
fiah  a-po'in'  down  on  de  tree-tops,  a-po'in'  down  on  de  grass. 
All  de  green  leabes  ob  de  tree-tops,  afiah  one  minnit  ;  nex' 
minnit  dey  gone  !  All  de  green  grass  ob  the  hollers  afiah  one 
minnit  nex'  minnit  all  gone  !  All  de  worl'  spattehed  wid  dat 
bleedin',  all  de  worl'  buhnin',  widcrittehs  an'  all  !  Oh,  Rabbit ! 
yo'  done  so  mean  !  so  mean,  Ole  Rabbit,  an'  now  yo'  own  coat 
a-ketchin'  it  too  !  Run,  Ole  Rabbit,  run  an'  run  ! 

"He  run,  he  jump   in  de  deep  stream.     Deep  stream  hot. 
1  This  incident  of  the  arrows  occurs  in  the  Kalevala. — C.  G.  L. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  207 

He  git  on  HI  ilun  (island).  Dar  he  safe,  but  soun'  ?  Oh,  no  ! 
he  all  kivveh  wid  de  sco'ch-mahks  ob  de  fiah  an'  he  kyarn' 
ne'er  cunjer  um  erway.  He  got  um,  he  keep  um  an'  so  do  he 
kin,  fum  dat  day  twell  now." 

"  Are  those  brown  marks  really  scorched  places  ?  " 

"  Sholy,  honey." 

"  Serves  him  right,  but  never  mind  !  Tell  how  the  world — 
I  mean  the  fire — was  put  out." 

"  Rabbit  ten'  ter  dat.  Wen  he  git  sottle  down  an'  wuhkhe 
mine  some,  he  know  de  way  am  ter  cry,  ter  cry  dem  cunjerin' 
teahs,  an'  dat  putt  out  de  fiah." 

"  He  should  have  cried  at  once,  instead  of  allowing  things  to 
burn  up." 

"  He  wuz  tuck  by  s'prise,  honey,  an*  up  an'  run  des  lak 
folks." 

"  Dat's  de  way,  sholy,"  assented  Aunt  Mymee.  "Ef  he  git  he 
breens  (brains)  a-gwine  dat  fiah'd  a-bin  putt  right  out.  W'y 
de  breens  ob  des  er  common  rabbit  am  pow'ful  e'en  w'en  de 
rabbit  daid." 

"  How  so,  Aunt  Mymee,  how  so  ?  " 

"  De  eatin'  o'  rabbit-breens,  raw  an'  hot,  gib  strenk  in  de 
haid  ;  de  rubbin'  wid  rabbit-breens,  dry  an'  in  er  brack  bag, 
mek  de  toofses  cut  easy  e'en  arter  some  un  done  spile  de  trick 
o'  de  molefoot  wid  cunjerin'.  De  toofses  bust  ri'  thu  w'en  de 
breens  come  in  de  lil  brack  silk  bag  an'  tek  er  tuhn  at  um. 
Oh,  yes  !  " 

"  De  breens  ob  er  rat  got  er  heap  ob  strenk  too,"  said  Aunt 
Mary,  visibly  elated  at  having  something  to  tell.  "  Wunst,  I 
knowed  er  man  dat  use  ter  ketch  rats  an'  pull  off  dey  haids  an' 
suck  down  dey  breens  w'iles  dey  wuz  hot  wid  de  life.  De  life  o' 
de  rat-breens  go  flyin'  right  inter  he  breens,  so  he  say,  an'  gin 
*im  er  heap  o'  strenk  in  de  haid  foh  cunjerin'." 

"Whosesso?" 

"  Ain't  I  done  say  he  sesso  ?  " 


2o8  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO. 

"  Den  I  ain't  a-'nyin'  o'  nuttin,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  decidedly, 
"  but,  at  de  same  time,  I  'bleege  ter  say  dat  I  holes  fas'  ter  de 
breens  ob  Ole  Rabbit." 

'*  Oh  !  Rabbit,  he  darnce  in  de  bright  moonshine. 
He  fling  up  de  haid  an'  he  kick  up  ahine. 
De  muel,  he  graze  in  de  parster  nigh, 
He  hang  down  de  haid  an'  he  kick  mighty  high. 
O,  Rabbit,  Rabbit  !  Rabbit,  Rabbit  ! 
La,  le,  Ole  Rabbit !  " 


XV. 
"BUGS.* 

Tow  HEAD  had  been  very  ill.  She  had  slipped  away  from  her 
guardians,  natural  and  acquired,  and  had  a  grand  game  of 
snowball  with  the  picaninnies ;  but,  in  the  end,  the  way  of  the 
small  transgressor  proved  to  be  hard,  her  sins  found  her  out  in 
short  order,  and  the  name  of  retributive  justice  was  "  Pneu- 
monia." So  serious  was  the  case  that  even  Big  Angy  was  in 
distress,  and  spent  all  her  spare  time  in  invoking  the  saints, 
cursing  the  doctors,  or  testing  the  efficacy  of  her  fetiches.  The 
aunties  searched  under  every  doorstone  for  "  tricks,"  but,  it  is 
needless  to  say,  found  none.  Aunt  Mymee  would  fain  have 
u  tricked  over "  the  supposed  malign  influence,  but,  as  she 
found  nothing,  could  suspect  no  one  and  had  no  way  of  finding 
out  what  had  been  done,  that  was  out  of  the  question.  If  she 
could  have  discovered  a  "  tricken-bag,"  or  a  rude  little  repre- 
sentation of  the  human  figure,  made"  of  clay,  wax,  or  even  snow, 
and  pierced  in  the  breast  with  a  thorn,  she  could,  by  burning 
the  evil  thing,  have  relieved  the  child.  As  it  was,  she  could 
do  nothing  but  "  hope  de  doctor  ain't  all  fool,"  and  assist  in 
carrying  out  his  orders.  When  at  length  the  child  was  con- 
valescent, her  patience  and  skill  in  ministering  to  the  wants 
and  caprices  of  the  little  tyrant  were  practically  limitless.  She 
petted,  she  soothed,  she  amused,  by  turns,  so  that  for  years 
Tow  Head  looked  back  on  the  confinement  of  the  sick-room  as 
a  rather  pleasant  experience — that  is,  the  latter  half  of  it. 

"  Aunt  Mymee, "said  she,  one  afternoon,  when  her  tranquillity 

15  209 


210  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

was  restored  after  indignantly  ordering  away  the  panada  and 
demanding  strawberries  (which  Aunt  Mymee,  relying  on  the 
shortness  of  her  patient's  memory,  had  promised  to  pick  "  in 
de  mawnin,  soon  ez  I  git  de  time  ter  scratch  de  snow  ofTen  de 
berry-baid) — "Aunt  Mymee,  the  snow  should  be  gone.  Do  you 
know  that  the  musquitoes  have  come  ?  I  hear  them  buzzing." 

"  Sholy,  honey.     I  hyeah  um  my  own  se'f,  plain." 

Not  for  worlds  would  Aunt  Mymee  have  told  her  charge 
that  the  buzzing  in  her  ears  came  from  the  doctor's  quinine 
instead  of  musquitoes. 

"  They  must  be  awfully  thick." 

"  Dey  is  so,  honey,  an'  dat  'mines  me  ob  er  lil  tale  dat  Aunt 
Jinny  wuz  a-ginnin  unter  de  folks  turr  night,  arter  Miss  Boo- 
garry  tole  de  tale  ob  de  lightnin'-bugs  (fireflies),  but  I  don't 
spec  yo'  keer  none.  Hit  wuz  cu'i's — but,  shuh  !  wut  yo'  a- 
keerin'  foh  Aunt  Jinny'  tale  o'  skeeter-bugs,  huh  ?  " 

"  I  do  care,  very  much,  so  tell  it,  tell  it  this  minute  !  Hurry ! 
or  I'll  put  my  foot  out  of  bed  and  take  cold." 

"  Shuh  !  yo'  a-gittin  well  mighty  fas',  I  kin  see  dat  by  de 
upshisness  yo'  'splay  ;  but  hole  on,  kivveh  up  dat  foot  an'  I 
tell  de  'mounts  ob  de  argyfy.  Aunt  Jinny,  she  say  dat  de 
lightnin'-bug  tale  wuz  all  foolishness  (Miss  Boogarry  ain'  hyeah 
dat,  yo'  kin  be  sho).  Dey  suttinly  wuz  er  witcher-ooman  dat 
hab  blood-suckin'  chilluns,  but  dat  witcher-ooman  ain't  fall 
outen  de  skies.  She  bin  on  de  yeath  (earth),  des  lak  us  folks,  an' 
den  she  go  unneat  (underneath)  somers.  She  stay  long  time 
down  dar,  an'  w'en  she  come  back  she  des  bust  thu  de  groun* 
lak  dem  lil  toadstool  dat  yo'  wuz  boun'  ter  eat  an'  kill  yo'se'f  wid, 
las'  summeh,  w'en  me  an'  Aunt  Jinny  tuck  yo'  thu  de  woods 
unter  de  gooseberry  patch." 

"  Never  mind  those  old  toadstools,"  cried  Tow  Head,  looking 
as  haughty  as  such  a  thin  little  girl  in  such  a  "  skimpy  "  little 
nightgown  could.  "  Go  on  with  the  story.  Where  had  the 
witch  been  ?  " 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  211 

"  Bin  a-runnin'  wid  de  Debbil,"  answered  Aunt  Mymee, 
promptly,  "  an'  de  Debbil's  ole  ooman  git  mad  an'  chase  'er  ter 
de  top  o'  de  groun'  ergin.  Wen  she  git  up,  she  'low  she  gotter 
hab  somers  ter  lib,  an'  so  she  went  ter  wuhk,  dat  ole  witcher- 
ooman  do,  an'  she  dig  'er  out  er  mighty  nice  cave  in  de  banks 
ob  er  mighty  deep  crik.  De  do'  ob  dat  cave  wuz  unneat  de 
watteh,  honey." 

"  Why  did  she  have  the  door  underneath  the  water,  Aunt 
Mymee  ?  "  inquired  the  little  girl,  eagerly. 

"She  wuz  feard  o'  de  Debbil's  ole  ooman,  honey,  an'  so  she 
want  dat  do'  whurs  nobody  ain't  gwine  ter  set  eyes  on  hit. 
Dat  de  why  an'  de  whahfo'  ob  dat  doin's. 

"  I  thought,"  pouted  the  child,  as  soon  as  her  curiosity  about 
the  door  was  satisfied,  "  that  this  was  a  musquito  story." 

"  Honey,  ef  yo'  keep  a-pullin'  me  up  dat  shawt  (short)  I 
gwine  ter  hab  er  sore  mouf.  Des  th'ow  de  lines  loose  an'  lemme 
gander  (wander)  down  de  road  des  'cordin'  ter  de  gait  dat  I 
want  ter  go  at.  Yo'  kyarn'  drive  er  ole  hoss  wid  er  sha'p- 
crackin'  whup  an*  er  stiff  bit  an'  git  ter  de  eend  ob  de  road  de 
quickes',  chile.  Gin  de  ole  hoss  er  free  line." 

This  metaphor  Tow  Head  understood  to  mean  that  if  she 
wished  to  hear  the  musquito  story,  she  must  not  interrupt  the 
narrator.  She  was  displeased,  and  evinced  her  displeasure  by 
puckering  her  brows  into  a  frown,  but,  noticing  the  firm  closure 
of  Aunt  Mymee's  lips,  concluded,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
not  to  indulge  her  temper  at  the  expense  of  her  curiosity,  and 
effaced  the  frown  with  a  smile  badly  wrinkled  at  the  corners. 

"  I'm  afraid  to  speak  again,  Aunt  Mymee,"  she  said,  i(  so  do 
go  on  without  being  asked." 

Aunt  Mymee  chuckled  faintly  and  proceeded. 

"  Putty  soon,  dat  raskil  ob  er  witcher-ooman  hab  heap  oj 
chilluns.  She  ain't  lub  dem  chilluns  much  ez  some  mammy 
do,  an'  she  don't  nuss  um  wid  milk,  she  feed  um  wid — 
blood!" 


212  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  O — oh  ! "  exclaimed  Tow  Head,  hugging  her  bony  little 
body  in  her  bony  little  arms  in  her  delight  (her  taste,  like  that 
of  many  another,  running  to  that  which  would  "  give  her 
the  horrors  " ),  "  oh,  Aunt  Mymee  1  what  sort  of  blood — 
people's?" 

"  N-nuh,  deer's,  at  de  fust,  den  all  sorts  ob  de  turr  crittehs'." 

"  Did  she  shoot  them  and  then  give  the  blood  to  the  chil- 
dren ?  " 

"  No,  suh  !  she  des  slip  up  ter  er  critteh  dat  she  ketch  out 
by  he  lone  se'f  and  den  she  mek  rings  on  de  groun'  an'  she  say 
de  cha'ms  dat  she  know,  an'  dataway  she  conjer  'im  so's  he 
kyarn't  stir  laig  nur  huf  (leg,  or  hoof).  Den  she  fetch  out  dem 
blood-suckin'  young  uns  o'  hern,  an'  dar  dey  stick  on  dat  po' 
critteh  twell  all  de  blood  done  drawed  outen  'im  an'  he  fall 
down  daid.  Dat  de  way  huh  an'  dem  mizzuble  young  uns  does." 

"  The  nasty,  mean  things  !  " 

"Dat  ole  witch  keep  dat  up  long  time.  At  de  fust,  she 
mighty  skeery  an'  keerful,  but  arter  w'iles  w'en  de  ole  debbil- 
ooman  don't  ketch  'er,  she  des  ez  bole  ez  brass.  She  quit 
a-skulkin'  arter  de  lone  crittehs  an'  go  right  mungs  de  crowds 
evvywhurs.  My  !  hit  wuz  des  er  scannel  (scandal)  de  way  she 
clean  out  de  beasteses,  kase,  all  de  time,  de  chilluns  gittin' 
biggeh  an'  hongrieh.  Dey  wuz  so,  an'  dey  c'd  eat  all  de  way 
roun'  fum  sun  up  ter  sun  down  an'  back  ergin.  Hit  des  seem 
lak  nuttin  wid  red  blood  gwine  ter  be  lef. 

"  At  de  las',  de  po'  crittehs  dat  wuz  lef  putt  dey  haids  ter- 
gerrer  an'  say  sumpin  boun'  ter  be  did  an'  dat  mighty  quick. 
Dey  tork  an'  dey  tork,  back  an'  fo'th,  an  dey  ain't  settle  down 
ter  nuttin. 

"  Den  up  jump  Misteh  Fox  an'  say — 

" (  Laze  an'  gentermens,  scuse  me  ef  Ise  too  forrid,  but  I 
boun'  ter  gin  out  my  pingin  (opinion)  dat  hit  time  ter  wake 
up  Grey  Wolf  an'  git  'im  terr  putt  er  eend  ter  dis  hyeah  blood- 
suckin'.  He  bin  sleepin'  off  de  tiahdness  ob  all  de  cunjerin'  an' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  213 

fightin'  he  done  mo'n  er  yeah  now ;  I  'low  he  got  he  nap  out 
an'  I  got  de  mine  ter  call  'im  up.' 

"  Dey  wake  'im  up. 

44  He  kyarn'  do  nuttin  dis  time. 

41  Dem  po'  crittehs  des  gin  right  out. 

44  4  Nemmine,'  sez  Ole  Grey,  wid  'er  grin,  ter  'courage  um, 
4  de  Debbil  er  mighty  big  man,  mighty  big,  but,  suhs  !  he — am 
— er — merried  man  ! — des  putt  dat  in  yo'  pipe  an'  smoke  hit.' 

44  Sho  nuff !  dey  done  fegit  dat,  but  now  dey  ree-mine  (re- 
member) dey  'courage  some.  Dey  'courage  mo'  w'en  Ole  Wolf, 
he  say  he  sen'  Fox  an'  Badger  ter  fine  Ole  Miss  Debbil  an'  ax 
'er  ter  he'p  um. 

"  Fox  an'  Badger,  dey  sot  out,  and  dey  rammle  an'  dey 
scrammle  plum  'crost  de  yeath  'fo'  dey  fine  'er.  Arter  long 
w'iles,  dough,  dey  kim  up  wid  'er  an'  tole  dey  tale.  My  \  w'en 
she  hyeah  all  dat,  she  des  r'ared  an'  pitched,  she  des  natchelly 
did,  and  den  she  axt  de  place  whah  all  dem  gwine-ons  wuz. 
Dey  tole  'er,  an'  she  rid  dar,  in  des  no  time,  on  er  streak  ob 
lightnin',  an',  in  dess  less  time  den  yo'  kin  holler  4  Ow,'  she  kilt 
dat  ole  witcher-ooman  wid  er  club  o'  fiah.  W'y,  dat  club  hit 
wuz  so  hot  dat  it  buhn  dat  ole  ooman  all  up.  Dey  wuzzent 
e'en  no  ashes  lef. 

44  W'en  dat  job  done,  she  tuhn  roun'  on  de  chilluns  an'  lay 
off  ter  kill  dem  too  ;  but  dat  ain't  no  use.  Dem  chilluns,  dey 
wuz  ha'f  debbil  an'  hit  wuz  on  dey  daddy's  side.  No,  no,  dey 
ain'  no  killin  o'  dem,  but  shuh  !  dat  ain't  balk  her.  She  des 
swivel  um  up  inter  skeeter-bugs,  and  dar  dey  is  ter  dis  day. 
Dey  feel  des  ez  mean  an'  hongry  dis  day  ez  dat,  but  dey  lil 
suckers  now,  an'  dat  sholy  sumpin. 

44  Ole  Miss  Debbil,  she  mighty  sot  up  wid  dat  wuhk,  but  she 
git  huh  come-uppunce,  she  do  ;  she  laff  outen  turr  side  o'  huh 
mouf  toreckly,  kase  Ole  Jay  Buhd — de  ole  t'ief  am  allus 
a-tattlin' — he  tole  de  Debbil,  an'  de  Debbil  he  wuz  dat  mad 
'bout  de  chilluns  !  (He  ain't  keer  none  'bout  dey  mammy,  he 


214  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

sick  o'  huh).  He  wuz  dat  mad  dat  he  tuck  an'  tuck  Miss 
Debbil's  big  cunjer-bag  dat  wuz  chockfull  o'  balls  dat  c'd  tork, 
an'  pipes  an'  whustles  an'  de  laks  o'  dat,  an'  mungs  um  wuz  dat 
mos'  'tickleres'  lil  whustle  dat  she  play  on  ter  call  up  all  de 
snakes  in  de  worl',  wunst  er  yeah,  w'en  she  gun  um  de  pizon 
dat  'bleege  ter  las'  um  twell  de  nex'  yeah.  Dat  wuzzen'  bad 
dough,  kase  dat  yeah  er  snake  bite  ain't  no  mo'n  er  ole  hen 
peck.  Oh,  yes  !  but  de  nex'  yeah,  mine  yo',  honey,  de  Ole  Boy 
an'  de  Ole  Gal  mek  up,  an'  de  snakes  wuz  rank  pizon  an'  de 
skeeter-bugs,  dey  wuz  t'ick  in  de  worl'  ez  lies." 
"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Tow  Head 

44  In  co'se,  honey.   De  eend  am  boun'  ter  be  de  las',  ain'  hit  ?  " 
"  Didn't  you  leave  out  something,  thinking  I  wouldn't  know 
the  difference  ?  "  was  the  next  question,  severely  asked. 

44  Nuttin  'tall,  honey,"  protested  Aunt  Mymee.    "  Aunt  Jinny 
ain't  say  nair  nurr  wuhd  den  de  ones  dat  I  des  tole  yo'." 
"  Then  tell  what  Big  Angy  told  about  the  lightning-bugs." 
44  Hit  mos'  de  same  tale,  chile,  but  hyeah  'tis — 
44  One  time,  dey  wuz  er  orfle  big  stawm.     De  win'  riz,  all  on 
de  suddent,  an'  de  t'undeh  boom  an'  de  lightnin'  fling  hisse'f 
roun'  de  yeath,  an*  de  big  rain  come  down,  an',  a-ridin'  on  de 
lightnin',  wut  yo'  reck'n  kim  down  wid  de  rain  ?  '* 
"  Oh  !  what  ? — what,  Aunt  Mymee  ?  " 
44  Dey  wuz  er  witch  a-ridin'  on  de  lightnin'." 
"A  witch?" 

41  Yessum,  dey  wuz  er  witch,  shoh  nuff." 
44  Oh,  Aunt  Mymee  !  was  the  lightning  greased  ?  n 
44  Not  ez  I  e'er  hyeah  tell  un,  honey.     Wut  putt  dat  noshin 
in  yo'  lil  haid  ?  " 

"Why,  the  other  day,  when  Uncle  Adam  was  breaking  the 
grey  colt,  Granny  said  he  wouldn't  fall  off,  he  could  ride  a  streak 
of  greased  lightning." 

44  So  he  could,  honey,  ef  somebody  ketched  hit  foh  'im,  I 
boun'  yo',  but.  de  Ian'  sake !  dat  witcher-ooman  c'd  ketch  de 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  215 

lightnin'  an'  ride  um  too,  leas'ways,  she  rid  um  wunst,  an'  den 
she  lit  on  de  groun',  an'  w'en  de  stawm  go  by  she  des  whirl  in 
an'  buil'  huhse'f  er  house,  er  mighty  nice  house,  outen  de  fresh 
green  tree  lim's.'' 


"AN'  A-RIDIN'  ON  DE  LIGHTNIN',  WUT  YO'  RECKON  KIM  DOWN  win 
DE  RAIN  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  a  house  like  that.     You  must  build  me 
one,  Aunt  Mymee." 


2i6  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Suttinly,  honey,  dat  des  wut  I  a-layin'  off  ter  do.  Dat  de 
berry  reason  I  name  urn  so  'tickler  unter  yo',  but  lemme  wine 
up  dis  hyeah  tale  'bout  de  lightnin'-bugs  fust." 

u  Well !  why  don't  you  keep  on  till  you  finish  it  ?  You  just 
keep  fooling  to  worry  me,  I  know  you  do.  If  you  don't  quit 
it,  I'll  call  you  a  '  pusson,'  like  Granny  did  one  time." 

"  Don't  yo'  das  ter  !  ur  nar  nurr  tale  yo'  gvvine  ter  git  outen 
me  fum  now  twell  de  nex'  week  arter  nebber  !  "  exclaimed 
Aunt  Mymee,  with  a  flash  of  the  eye  that  was  for  Granny,  not 
the  child.  "  I  'clar'  ter  grashis,  de  impunce  o'  dem  Ole 
Feginny  niggehs  am  'miff  an'  er  plenty,  medout  dey  a-spilin'  de 
mannehs  ob  all  de  chilluns  on  de  place.  *  Call  me  a  pusson  ! ' 
— de  chile  I  nussed  ! — de  chile  I  far  riz  (fairly)  fum  de  grabe  ! 
Well,  suhs  !  /ain't  gwine  ter  be  s'prise  wid  nuttin  fum  dis  out." 

"I  didn't  say  it,  I  only  said  I  would  if  you  didn't  hurry," 
protested  Tow  Head,  seeing  the  promised  story  vanishing  as 
the  fire-flies  do  when  a  too-eager  little  hand  is  stretched 
towards  them.  "  How  can  I  say  it  if  you  go  on  talking?  Do 
go  on,  Aunt  Mymee.  If  you  don't  I  know  I'll  cry,  and  if  I  cry 
I'll  be  sick  again,  and  then  you  will  feel — awfittfy." 

Aunt  Mymee  was  subdued. 

"  De  witch  stay  in  dat  lil  house,  des  lak  er  owl,  an'  mo' 
wusser  too,  kase  de  owl  run  roun'  in  de  night,  but  de  witch 
don'  do  dat,  ef  de  moon  a-shinin',  she  des  set  fo'th  w'en  hit  wuz 
ez  brack  ez  er  stack  ob  brack  cats.  Den,  how  she  go  ?  She  des 
slip  thu  de  woods  mo'  quick'n  de  win'  an'  she  shine  fum  top- 
knot ter  toe-nail  lak  she  all  afiah. 

((  Arter  w'iles,  she  got  er  lot  o'  chilluns,  an'  dey  shine  dataway 
too.  Dey  look  mighty  fine,  but  she  ain't  a-keerin',  she  ain't 
sot  on  um  (devoted  to  them)  lak  urr  (other)  mammies.  She 
ain't  gin  um  no  milk,  she  gin  um  blood,  de  blood  o'  de  putty 
deer.  She  cha'm  dem  deer,  she  do,  an'  dar  dey  stan'  w'iles  dem 
fiah-chilluns  hang  on  dey  neck  an'  suck  out  all  dey  life.  Dis 
hyeah  go  on  twell  de  wolves  git  ter  noduss  dat  de  deer  a-gittin' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS:  217 

mighty  skeerce.  Den  dey  rowge  up — wolves  mighty  fon'  ob 
deer-meat — an'  dey  say — 

"  '  Shoh  !  we  kyarn'  stan'  dis,  noways ;  we  fine  de  deer 
a-stannin'  up  des  ez  daid  an'  dry  ez  fodder-stalks,  and  dey  ain' 
fit  ter  eat,  and  dey  ain'  no  libe  uns  skusely  lef .  We  boun' 
ter  stop  dis  bizniz  ef  we  ain't  want  ter  mek  oweh  nex'  winteh 
sassidge-meat  outen  oweh  own  tails." 

"  Dey  ain'  wanter  do  dat,  foh  sho,"  continued  Aunt  Mymee, 
enjoying  the  litle  girl's  amusement,  u  so  dey  git  er  deer  an  kill 
hit  an'  dreen  out  all  de  blood.  Den  dey  fill  it  up  wid  sumpin 
dat  look  lak  blood,  but  'tain't ;  hit  sumpin'  dat  de  Ole  Boy 
kyarn't  do  nuttin  'bout.  All  de  wolves  kin  mek  hit,  an'  now- 
an'-'gin,  dey  play  turr'ble  tricks  wid  hit.  Wut  'tis,  dis  niggeh 
ain't  know,  but  hit  turr'ble.  Dey  putt  dat  in,  dey  do,  an'  dey 
cha'm  dat  deer  so  hit  go-  lak  it  a-libbin'.  Hit  go  up  ter  de 
witcher-ooman,  an'  she  lay  de  han  on  it,  and  she  fetch  one 
squall,  an'  dat  de  eend  o'  huh  gwines-on.  She  swivel  (shrunk 
up,  shrivel),  she  do.  She  swivel  an'  she  swivel.  She  git  ter  de 
size  ob  er  HI  ooman,  lil  chile,  HI  baby,  HI  pig,  HI  cha'm,  HI  pea, 
den  she  gone !  No  blood,  no  bone,  no  dut,  no  nuttin.  Goo'- 
bye,  ole  witch  ! '' x 

"  What  became  of  the  little  fire-children  ?  " 

"  Hole  yo'  hosses,  honey.  De  chilluns,  dey  see  dey  mammy 
go,  an'  off  dey  run.  Dey  ain't  tech  dat  cunjer-deer,  but  hit  got 
de  strenk  ter  pesteh  um  dough.  Hit  swivel  um  down  ter 
lightnin'-bugs,  an'  so  dey  is  ter  dis  day,  an'  if  yo'  watch  um, 
yo'  kin  see  um,  wa'm  nights,  a-huntin'  roun'  foh  de  mammy 
dey  los',  but,  yo'  hyeah  me,  dey  ain'  ne'er  gwine  ter  fine  ez 
much  ez  de  string  ob  'er  petticut." 

"  What  are  you  stopping  for  ?  " 

"  Dat's  all,  honey.     I  done  fetch  up  ergin  er  bline  wall." 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !     Why  don't  you  have  long  stories." 

1  This  strangely  resembles  the  artificial  story  of  the  Kalevalu,  made  by  the 
evil  ones  (wolves),  whose  first  act  is  to  kick  over  and  scatter  a  fire. — C.  G.  L. 


218  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  I  hatter  cut  my  coat  'cordin'  ter  my  cloth,  honey.  Ef  I 
got  shawt  news,  I  boun'  ter  tell  um  shawt." 

"  Tell  something  else,  then.  Do  you  know  any  other  bug 
stories  beside  skeeter-bug  stories  and  lightning-bug  stories  ?  " 

Aunt  Mymee  pondered,  and  her  anxious  expression  was 
reflected  in  the  countenance  of  her  young  friend.  Finally,  her 
serious,  not  to  say  care-worn,  look  was  replaced  by  a  smile  that 
came  on  gradually  like  a  sunrise  and,  in  time,  was  a  very 
brilliant  illumination  indeed.  Tow  Head  marked,  understood 
and  laughed  aloud  in  pleased  anticipation. 

"  Tell  it." 

"  Hit  'bout  dese  hyeah  hoppehgrasses." 

"  Oh  !  I  know  that.     Granny  told  me." 

"  Dat  mighty  fine.  Mebbe,  dough,  hit  aint  des  zackry  de  se'f 
same  tale.  Des  name  it  ovveh,  chile." 

"  I'll  sing  it,"  said  the  little  girl,  gleefully.  In  a  weak  little 
voice  she  chanted — 

"  Hoppeh-grass  a-settin'  on  er  sweet-tateh  vine, 
A-kickin'  up  he  heels  an'  a-feelin'  mighty  fine. 
'Long  come  er  gobbler  a-steppin'  up  ahine. 
1  Scuse  me,  hoppeh-grass,  I  boun'  foh  ter  dine.* 
An'  picked  'im  off  dat  sweet-tateh  vine." 

"  Shuh  !  dat  tale  ain't  de  one  dat  I  wuz  gwine  ter  tell,  ain't 
ez  much  ez  elbow-cousin  unter  hit,  dey  ain't  no  kin  'tall. 
Nemmine,  dough,  I  ain't  fo'ce  no  tale  inter  nobody's  yeahs." 

"  Who  said  you  would  ?  " 

"  Dey's  mo'  ways  den  one  o'  sayin'." 

"  I  don't  care  if  there's  a  bushel  of  hundreds  !  I  can't  be 
teased  about  them — the  doctor  said  so — and  if  you  don't  go  on, 
I'll  let  my  two  bare  feet  get  cold  and  I'll  be  sick  again.  There  !  " 

Aunt  Mymee  felt  the  force  of  the  threat,  and  without  delay 
began  the  tale  of  the  grasshoppers. 

"  In  de  ole,  ole  times,  dem  dat  wuz  ahead  ob  de  mos'  ob  de  ole 
times,  dey  wuz  er  turr'ble  witcheh  man,  an'  dat  witcheh-man, 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  219 

he  mammy  wuz  er  witch  an'  he  daddy,  w'y,  honey,  he  des  wuz 
de  Old  Boy  hisse'f.  Dis  hyeah  witcheh-man,  he  des  natchelly 
'spise  all  de  folks  in  de  worl',  kase  he  wuz  de  mos'  uglies'  man 
in  de  woiT,  wid  er  whopple-jaw  an'  er  har'-lip,  sidesen  er  lop 
side  an'  er  crookid  laig  an'  one  eye  dat  wuz  des  lak  fiah  an'  one 
dat  was  daid." 
"  Oh,  my  !  » 

"  Uh-huh  !  dat  wuz  de  troof,  an*  he  wuz  mo*  full  ob  mean- 
ness den  uggyness,  an'  he  wuhk  her  heap  o'  sorrer  an'  debbil- 
ment  ter  folks  an'  dumb  crittehs,  an'  de  grass  an'  de  greens  too, 
but  de  wust  wuz  'bout  de  chilluns." 

"  What  did  he  do  to  the   children  ?  "  queried  Tow  Head, 
languidly. 
"  Et  urn." 

"  No,  no,  Aunt  Mymee  ;  he  didn't  eat  the  children,  the  poor 
little  children,  he  didn't  !  "  cried  the  child,  excitedly. 

"  He  did,  honey,  fob  troo,"  said  the  story-teller,  "dat  am,  he 
cotched  urn  an'  sucked  dey  blood  an'  chawed  um  up  an'  spit 
um  out  in  de  grass." 

"  Didn't  anybody  come  along  and  bury  them  ?  " 
"Nuh.  Kase  w'y,  dey  wuzzen'  dead,  dey  wuz  moggerfied 
(transformed).  Dey  wuzzen'  daid,  but,  my  Ian' !  dey  own 
daddies  an'  mammies  ain't  know  um  fum  er  side  o'  sole-leather. 
Dey  hop  up  an'  they  jounce  roun',  but  dey  ain't  look  lak  chil- 
luns, dey  wuz  des  hoppeh-grasses." 

"  What  a  shame  !  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  a  hopper-grass  and 
Papa  and  Mamma  not  know  me." 

"  Dat  wuzzen'  de  wust  un  hit,"  continued  Aunt  Mymee, 
solemnly  ;  "  dem  chilluns  wuz  Injun  chilluns,  an'  dey  daddies 
an'  mammies,  dey  druv  um  inter  hollers  an'  ketched  um  in  bags 
an'  den  roasted  um  an'  pounded  um  inter  dus'  an'  mek  um 
inter  cakes  an'  et  um — dey  own  chilluns  !  " 

"  O — oh  !  the  poor  little  children  were  eaten  twice  ! " 

"  Some  un  um  wuz,  sholy,  an'  mo'  un  um  would  a-bin  ef,  one 


220 


OLD  RABBIT,    THE  VOODOO, 


time,  er  ole  ooman,  dat  wuz  a-huntin'  roim'  foh  choke-churries 
an'  a-squattin'  down  dat  low  dat  he  ain'  see  'er,  ain'  seed  hm 
spit  out  er  chile  an'  seed  de  chile  fly  up  er  hoppeh-grass.  My  ! 


"  AN'  DEN  SHE  TUCK  UE  CHU'N  AN*  PO'  OUT  DE  WHOLE  MESS  ON  DE 

YEATH." 

she  wuz  des  all  in  er  trimmle  an'  goose  pimples,  but  w'en  he 
go  on,  she  mek  out  ter  run  home  an'  tell  dem  bad  nooze  unter 
all  de  folks.  Dat  wuz  mighty  bad,  mighty  bad.  Dem  po' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  221 

folkses,  dey  dassent  kill  no  mo'  hoppeh-grasses,  kase  dey  don* 
kin  tell  noways  de  sho-nuff  hoppehs  fum  de  chilluns,  an'  so 
dem  mischevyous  lil  crittehs  des  et  up  de  whole  face  ob  de 
yeath.  Dey  wuzzent  er  blade  o'  grass  in  de  medders,  ur  er 
leaf  on  de  trees,  ur  er  plum,  ur  er  berry,  ur  nuttin.  De  po' 
folks  an'  de  beasteses  wuz  des  styarvin'  out.  Dey  wuz  dat  desput 
dat  dey  go  plum  ter  T'undeh-Lan'  an'  ax  de  witch  un  hit  ter 
sen'  er  big  stawm  an'  kill  off  dem  hoppeh-grasses,  but  she  ain't 
keer  none,  she  des  druv  um  off.  De  Jedgment  Day  a-comin', 
dough,  comin',  comin'.  Dat  ole  witcheh-man  am  dat  sot  up 
an'  free-feelin'  fum  high  libbin'  dat  he  spit  dem  hoppeh-grass 
chilluns  cl'ar  'crost  T'undeh-Lan'  right  inter  de  ole  witcher- 
ooman's  front  do'.  Dat  rile  'er.  She  tromple  dem  hoppeh- 
grasses  down  an'  den  she  fetch  out  de  chu'n -dasher  an'  de  big 
ole  chu'n,  an'  she  chu'n  up  the  bigges'  stawm  dat  e'er  wuz,  an' 
den  she  tuck  de  chu'n  an'  po'  out  de  whole  mess  and  drownded 
out  dem  hoppeh-grasses,  an'  she  fetch  de  ole  witcheh-man  er 
lick  wid  er  streak  o'  lightnin',  an' — goo'-bye  ole  witcheh-man, 
f  revveh  mo' !  " 

"  Then  what  ?  " 

"  Den,  w'en  de  stawm  settle,  de  trees  an*  de  grass  an*  de 
collahds  J  an'  de  inguns  grow  'gin  an'  de  folkses  an'  de  beasteses 
git  fat." 

"But  the  little  children— the  poor,  eaten  little  children — 
didn't  they  come  again  like  Little  Red  Riding-Hood  ?  " 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"  Didn't  they  come  ?  "  insisted  the  child,  anxiously. 

"  Honey,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  slowly  and  regretfully,  "  dem 
chilluns  ain't  ne'er  yit  come  back." 

The  little  girl   was  so    distressed  and  disappointed  at  this 

unhappy  ending  of  the  story  that  Aunt  Mymee  thought   it 

advisable  to  cheer  her  with  a  little  music,  and  without  further 

ado,  sang,  to  a  wild  and  rollicking  air,  these  words  which  had 

1  Collard,  a  kind  of  cabbage. 


222  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

often  roused   her   ire  when  any  of  the   late  partners  of  her 
joys  and  sorrows  had  presumed  to  serenade  her  with  them — 

"  Ez  I  wuz  gwi-in  up  de  hill, 
I  met  de  Debbil's  wife. 
I  grab  my  hat  an'  mek  my  bow, 
Kase  I  don't  want  no  strife. 

No  strife,  no  strife. 

Kase  I  don't  want  no  strife. 

«  Howdy,  Miss  Debbil,'  I  holler  out, 
How  am  yo'se'f,  dis  day  ? 
Di.s  weddeh  mighty  good  foh  cawn.1 
Not  one  t'ing  do  she  say. 
She  say,  she  say. 
Not  one  t'ing  do  she  say. 

De  Ole  Boy  mus'  a- tied  'er  tongue. 
Wish  my  wife  done  lak  dat . 
Oh  !  I  would  spread  my  jaws  out  wide 
An'  tek  on  streaks  o'  fat. 

O'  fat,  o'  fat. 

An'  tek  on  streaks  o'  fat." 


XVI. 


SNAKE  STORIES. 

THE  contrast  between  the  rosy  light  flung  over  the  cabin  from 
the  fire-place  and  the  cold  white  moonlight  without  was  so 
great  that,  as  Aunt  Em'ly  said,  "  hit  fa'r  (fairly)  mek  er  ole  ooman 
blink,"  and  so  confused  her  vision 
that  when  she  caught  sight  of  a  bit 
of  rope,  the  property  of  Tow  Head, 
lying  at  her  feet,  she  uttered  a 
frightened  scream  of  which  she  was, 
the  next  moment,  ashamed. 

"  Ise  gittin'  rickety,  sho  nuff,"  she 
said,  apologetically.  "  Dat  am  twiste 
dis  night  dat  I  bin  fool  o'  gittin' 
skeered  o'  snakes." 

"  Snakes  in  de  winteh  !  "  giggled 
Aunt  Mary. 

"  Yo'  gotter  look  shahp  !  Dey  am  er  inmy  arteh  yo',  unner 
hans,"  growled  Big  Angy,  in  warning.  "  Dat  seein'  whah  dey 
ain',  am  comme  de  dream." 

"  Lor  !  "  exclaimed  the  frightened  Em'ly. 

"  Ef  dat  count,  w'y  ain'  hit  count  ter  stop  um  de  same  ez  ter 
stop  de  libe  snake  fum  a-bittin'  by  a-sayin',  '  De  seed  o'  de 
ooman  shill  bruise  de  sarpint's  haid'»?  Ef  yo'  keep  a-sayin' 
dat,  de  snake  ain't  hatch  yit  dat  kin  ha'm  him  dat  say  hit ;  dat 


THE    CABIN. 


224  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

we  kin  prube,  pintidly,  den  whyso  aint  hit  good  foh  ter  kyore 
de  bad  dream  ?  "  Granny  interrogated,  with  an  anxious  and 
deferential  look  at  Aunt  Mymee. 

"  Dunno,"  was  the  short  answer. 

"  Dey's  some  luck  in  de  snake,"  said  Big  Angy,  encourag- 
ingly. "  Bar's  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake,  dat  bin  sence  de  fus' 
day  an'  am  de  king  ob  de  Snake  Kyentry.  Me  connaz  de  tale 
o'  de  boy  dat  go  ter  dat  kyentry  an'  'joy  life  dar." 

On  being  importuned,  Big  Angy  told  the  following — 

There  was  once  a  little  boy  who  had  a  bad  stepmother.  She 
whipped  him  every  day.  One  evening,  when  he  was  late  in 
bringing  the  cows  home,  she  went  out  to  meet  him,  and  picking 
up  what  she  thought  was  a  stick  lying  in  the  road,  she  struck 
him  a  blow  she  thought  would  be  very  severe.  The  supposed 
stick  was  in  reality  a  snake.  When  she  discovered  it,  she  fled 
screaming.  The  snake  was  left  in  the  road,  badly  bruised. 
The  little  boy  stooped  over  it  with  words  of  pity.  "  We  have 
suffered  together,"  said  the  snake,  "  we  will  recover  together. 
Come  to  the  Snake  Country.  I  will  make  you  known  to  the 
king.  He  will  treat  you  better  than  that  stepmother  does." 

The  boy  was  not  sure  that  it  would  be  wise  to  go,  but  he  was 
desperate  and  went,  reckless  of  consequences.  The  change  was 
for  the  better.  Once  he  went  home  for  a  visit,  and  every  one 
saw  that  he  was  fat  and  dressed  in  fine  clothes.  Nothing  could 
persuade  him  to  remain  long  in  his  father's  house,  he  would  go 
back  to  the  snakes  and  he  would  not  promise  to  make  another 
visit. 

u  I  know  mo'  biggeh  tale  den  dat,  'bout  de  Snake  Kyentry," 
cried  Aunt  Em'ly. 

"  Tell  hit,"  said  Big  Angy,  glumly. 

Aunt  Em'ly  was  too  eager  to  practise  her  usual  deprecatory 
politeness,  and  at  once  told  the  tale  of  her  little  boy. 

"  Wunst  on  er  time,  hit  wuz  de  ole  time,  berry  ole,  dey  wuz 
er  lil  boy  dat  los'  he  mammy.  He  daddy  ain't  noduss  'im 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  225 

much,  kase  w'y  he  bin  er  gret  hunteh  an'  he  t'ink  de  mo'  ob 
de  beasteses  he  ketch  an'  kill  den  he   do  o'    dat  peakeddy, 
(peaked,  or  pale  and  thin)  pindlin  lil  chile,  so  dat  lil  boy,  in  de 
ways  it  fall  out,  des  bleege  ter  be  timbehsome  (timorous)  an' 
low  in  he  mine  ef  he  don't  mek  no  fr'en's  mungs  de  crittehs, 
kase  in  de  woods  dem's  all  de  comp'ny  dey  is.     Now  den,  the 
crittehs,  dey  all  know  he  daddy  an'  dey  'feard  foh  come  roun' 
an'  ax  'im  howdy  an'  pass  de  time  o'  day.     Po'  lil  boy,  he  go 
set  on  de  big  flat  rock  by  de  crik  ;  set  dar  an'  cry  kase  he  ain' 
got  no  frens,  no  mammy,  no  nuttin. 
"  Snake-docteh  x  come  a-flyin'  by. 
"  '  Wut  de  matteh,  lil  boy  ?  '  Snake-docteh  ax. 
"  Lil  boy  cry  so  de  don'  kin  spik  out  'tall. 
"  Snake-docteh  try  'gin. 

"  Lil  boy  sniff  an'  snuff,  shake  an'  heabe.  Bimby,  he  git  out 
de  wuhd — 

"  'I  got  no  frens,  I  got  no  comp'ny,  Ise  honin'  arter  gittin 
whurs  my  mammy  gone  ter.' 

"  *  Shuh  !  •  say  de  snake  docteh,  *  yo'  heap  too  young,  foh 
torkin'  dat  away.  All  yo'  a-needin'  am  some  un  dat  kin  fall  to 
an'  'muse  yo'  wid  de  gwines-on  ob  de  neighbehs,  ur  er  (or  a) 
tale  ur  two  'bout  somewurs,  ur  nowurs.' 

"  At  dat  de  lil  boy  sorter  kinder  wipe  de  eye. an*  cock  up  de 
yeah  an'  look  lak  he  wanter  hyeah  mo'  bout  de  case. 

"'Dat  des  all  yo'  a-needin,  in  de  pints  o'  fack,'  say  de  snake 
docteh,  sorter  a-balluncin'  hisse'f,  lak  he  gwine  ter  fly  off,  *but 
ef  yo'  don't  keer  foh  dat,  in  co'se  dat  yo'  bizniz  an'  none  o* 
mine.' 

"Den  de  lil  boy,  he  sorter  fetch  er  lil  oneasy  grin,  an1  he  'low 
he  lak  some  comp'ny  ter  tok  (talk)  wid  fust-rate. 

"  *  My  'quaintence,'  say  de  snake  docteh,  kinder  fizzin*  he 
wing,  lak  he  des  a-stahtin',  '  am  mungs  de  folks  dat  I  doctehs. 
Dey's  snakes,  in  co'se.  Now,  Ise  gwine  inter  de  Snake  Kyentry 

1  "Snake-doctor" — Dragon-fly. 
16 


226  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

dis  minnit.  I  bin  sont  foh  in  de  bigges'  kine  ob  er  hurry,*  sez  'e, 
sorter  struttin'  up  an'  down  in  de  a'r,  '  but  den  dat's  nuttin.  Dey 
allus  'low  dey  kyarn'  git  'long  bedout  me  ef  dey's  po'ly  (poorly). 
Oh,  yes,  I  bin  sont  foh  (sent  for),  an'  I  got  my  bag  o'  yarbs,  and  I 
got  my  medsum  pipe,  an'  I  got  my  cunjer-bones  'long  o'  me, 
dis  minnit,  I  has  so.  I  gwine  dis  time  ter  de  fust  fambly,  shoh 
nuff ;  I  bin  sent  foh  ter  Ole  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake's  ol'est 
son's  younges'  darter's,  I  is.  One  o'  de  chilluns  is  mighty  bad, 
dey  tells  me,  but  dey  'lows  I  kin  fetch  um  thu  all  right, 
yessuh  !  an'  dat  why  I  in  sech  er  big  hurry.' 

aDat  soun'  mighty  fine,  but  de  lil  boy,  a-studyin'  all  de  time 
whah  he  come  in.  He  wiggle  an'  he  twis'  an'  he  open  he  mouf 
an'  he  shet  um  'gin,  an'  he  feel  sorter  sheepy  'bout  axin'  ques- 
chins,  but  w'en  de  snake  docteh  keep  oil  a-wizzen'  he  wing 
an'  braggin',  wizzen'  he  wing  an'  braggin'  an'  lookin'  lak  he 
gwine  ter  be  off  in  er  seckint  mo',  hit  come  obeh  'im  so  strong 
dat  he  (was)  a  hyeahin'  heap  o'  tork  an'  a  gittin'  no  news,  dat 
he  git  desput,  an'  he  whirl  in  an'  say — 

"  *  Oh,  say,  Misteh  Snake-Docteh,  is  yo'  a-wantin'  me  ter  go 
'long  an'  tote  de  yarb-bag  an'  mek  de  'quaintence  o'  de  fambly 
dataway,  ur  is  yo'  gwine  ter  fetch  some  un  um  back  wid  you  ?  ' 

" '  I  wuz  a-studyin'  'bout  fetchin'  some  o'  de  chilluns  hyeah,' 
sez  de  snake  docteh,  mons'us  stiff  an'  sollum.  '  Ef  ye'  c'd  a- 
waited  twell  I  wuz  thu  wid  my  disco'se,  you'd  a-larnt  dat  same, 
but,  Ian*  sakes  !  grown  folks,  speshul  de  ole,  dey  gits  de  wuhd 
snatch  right  outen  dey  mouf,  des  days.  Dat  wuzzent  de  way 
my  mammy  fetch  me  up,  dat  hit  wuzzent  I 

'  Spik  w'en  yo  spoke  unter, 
Come  w'en  yo'  call. 
Ef  yo'  jump  To'  I  show  yo't 
Yo'  git  er  bad  fall.' 

Dat  wuz  de  princerpul  /  wus  fotch  up  on.  Dat  de  mannehs 
wut  she  larn  me,  an'  I  was  bleege  ter  foller  um,  chile.' 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  227 

"  Oh,  dat  snake  docteh  wuz  mad  1  He  mek  lak  he  gwine 
now,  foh  suttin. 

"  Lil  boy  'gin  ter  cry. 

"  (I  wuzzent  meanin'  ter  aggervax  ye,'  Misteh  Snake-Docteh,' 
he  whimple  out  ;  '  I  dunne  no  betteh'n  ter  tork  so.  I  ain't  got 
no  mammy  ter  larn  me  nuttin.  Prease,  suh,  don't  fly  off.  I 
ain't  gwine  do  so  no  mo'.' 

"Well,  suhs  !  dat  sorter  pacify  de  ole  snake  docteh,  but  he  say 
he  bleege  ter  be  a-gittin'  'long,  all  de  same,  but  ef  de  HI  boy  be 
in  de  same  place  bout  sundown,  he  gwine  ter  come'  long  wid 
two  likely  snake  chilluns,  an'  dey  des  plum  full  ob  fun,  an' 
dey'd  go  in  wid  'im  foh  raisin'  all  de  ruckshin  he  kin  study  up. 
Hit  tuhn  out  des  dataway  too.  Dem  young  snakes  des  ez  fat 
an'  slick  an*  sassy  ez  young  shoats  in  er  cawn-fiel'.  Dey  tell 
'im  riddles,  dey  'splain  he  dreams,  day  teach  'im  de  chahm  dat 
ketch  de  buhds  an'  de  molly-cotton  tails,  dey  gin  'im  whole 
han'ful  ob  snake-rattles  foh  ter  tie  up  in  he  ha'r  to  keep  off  de 
haidache  an'  de  sun-struck,  w'en  he  run  roun'  in  de  hot  noon 
sun.  Dey  mek  'im  sly,  dey  mek  'im  sha'p,  dey  mek  'im  gaily. 
De  HI  boy  feel  mighty  good.  He  laff,  he  sing,  he  mek  de 
laughin'  tale  hisse'f.  Bimeby  dough,  he  get  a-studyin'  'bout 
de  tales  dem  two  rattlesnakes  tell  'bout  der  own  ky entry,  kase 
hit  wuz  dishaways  :  sometime  dey  play  wid  de  boy,  but  off  an' 
on  dey  wuz  in  dey  own  kyentry,  an'  den  w'en  dey  git  back,  dey 
wuz  tellin' de  big  tale  bout  whah  dey  folks  lib,  an'  'bout  de  king 
o'  dat  place  wut  hab  hawns  (horns)  on  hehaid  an'  er  gole  crown 
wid  red  spots  onter  hit,  an'  he  eyes  wuz  big  ez  waggin-wheels, 
an'  dey  roll  roun'  an'  roun'  in  de  sockuts  lak  de  wheels  too,  an' 
de  fiah  spahks  fly  out  en  um.  De  ole  king  got  er  tongue  lak 
er  pitch-fawk  an'  des  ez  big  too,  dey  tell,  an'  he  kin  spit  de 
yalleh  pizon  er  mile,  an'  de  scales  offen  he  las'  yeah's  skin,  dey 
kin  chahm  off  de  swamp-feveh  an'  de  rheumatiz.  Oh,  yes  !  dat 
wuz  er  big  tale  dey  tol  dat  HI  boy,  dough  I  hain't  name  but  des 
de  leas'es'  HI  smidgin  ob  hit.  Hit  des  'stractid  dat  boy,  an'  he 


228 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


baig  an'  he  plead  ter  see  dem  t'ings,  twell  de  snakes  dey  sorry 
foh  dat  honin',  an'  git  'im  er  eenvite  ter  mek  er  stay  in  de 
Snake  Kyentry,  an'  dey  gran'addy,  he  writ  'im  er  pass  on  er 
dock  leaf  wid  de  eend  o'  he  tail.  He  writ  hit  on  de  leaf,  an' 
he  wrop  hit  up  in  grass,  to-be-sho,  but  hit  wuz  er  good  pass, 
an'  tuck  de  lil  boy  'long  des  ze  slick  ze  grease  on  de  waggin- 
wheel.  Wen  dat  lil  boy  git  ter  de  aige  o'  de  kyentry,  suhs,  he 
wuz  s'prise,  an'  dat  ain't  s'prisin.  Dar  de  big  brack  snakes  wuz, 
all  a-stannin'  on  dey  tails  des  ez  stiff  an'  straight  ez  de  rushes 
a-growin'  'long  de  side  ob  de  ma'sh.  Dey  bat  de  eye  at  de  lil  boy 


LIL   BOY   AND   THE    SNAKES. 

an'  don'  stir,  but  ef  dey  ain't  see  dat  pass  dey'd  a-quile  (coiled) 
roun'  'im  an'  squoge  de  bref  o'  life  outen  'im.  Dey  do  see  de 
pass  dough,  an'  dey  bat  de  eye  an'  dat  mean,  *  Go  'long.'  He 
do  go  'long  twell  he  see  de  king  an'  de  king'  fambly  an'  all  de 
turr  folks,  an'  dey  wuz  dat  nice  an'  'gree'ble  dat  he  mek  up  he 
mine  dat  he  tek  up  he  stan'  dar  foh  good,  so  he  des  go  ter  de 
cave  ob  de  rattlesnakes  an'  mek  hisse'f  homefolks  dar." 

u  How   did    he  make   himself    homefolks    with    snakes  ? " 
queried  Tow  Head,  looking  rather  incredulous. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  229 

.  "  Totin'  wood  an'  fetchin  chips  an'  runnin'  arrints  an'  tendin' 
de  baby,  I  s'poge,"  said  the  narrator,  with  an  assumption  of 
loftiness  amusing  even  to  a  child.  "  Leas'ways,  dat  wut  I 
reck'n,"  was  the  qualifying  afterthought,  mildly  expressed, 
"  but,  nemmine,  enny ways.  Dar  he  wuz  an'  dar  he  stayed,  an' 
at  de  fust  he  daddy  ain't  miss  'im.  Arter  w'iles  he'  gin  ter 
mirate  some,  an'  den  he  'gin  ter  'quire  an'  ax  roun'  mungs  de 
trees  an'  de  grass  an'  de  criks — he  ain't  ax  de  crittehs,  kase  w'y 
dey  up  an'  git  too  quick — ef  dey  seen  sumpin  o'  dat  triflin' 
boy.  He  sorter  s'pishin  dat  de  chile  fall  inter  de  crik  nigh  de 
cabin  an'  drownd  hisse'f  ter  def,  but  de  crik  'low  dat  ain't  so, 
kase  ef  'twuz,  hit  'ud  a-knowed  it.  Dat  crik  know  mighty  well 
whah  dat  boy  gone,  but  'tain't  gwine  ter  tell  kase  hit  none  o' 
hit's  look-out. 

"  De  trees,  w'en  dey  bin  axt,  'low  dey  got  dey  'tenshun  way 
up  in  de  sky  an'  dey  ain't  noduss  no  boys. 

"  De  grass — shuh  ! — de  grass  boun'  ter  tell  ur  die  ;  hit  des 
bleege  ter  tattle  an'  pack  de  news  eroun',  ur  else  dry  up  an* 
blow  off,  so  hit  up  an'  tole  de  man  de  whahbouts  dat  boy  use 
ter  set  a-gassin'  wid  de  snakes,  'an','  says  dat  grass,  des  a-wavin' 
an'  a  swingin',  hit  feel  so  biggetty  wid  er  tale  ter  tell, 
'de  ebenin'  dat  boy  go  off,  de  whole  passel  un  um,  boy 
an'  snakes,  wuz  des  a-kyarin'  on  high,  twell  dey  go  off  seput 
ways.' 

li  W'en  de  man  hyeah  dat,  he  wuz  pesteh  in  he  mine.  He 
ain't  pay  no  'tenshun  ter  de  boy  hisse'f,  but  he  'spise  ter  b'liebe 
dat  de  snakes  et  'im,  so  he  ax  de  way  todes  de  Snake  Kyentery. 
No  un  own  up  dat  he  know,  so  de  man,  he  watch  he 
chance  an'  ketch  er  snake  wid  er  slip-knot.  Man  ax  bout 
de  boy. 

"  Snake  say — 

"  *  Yo'  knows  well  nuff  dat  he  go  on  HI  ja'nt  ter  de  Snake 
Kyentry.  He  come  back  w'en  he  git  he  bisit  (visit)  out.' 

"  Man  ain't  b'liebe  dat. 


230  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

11  (  Show  me  de  way  ter  de  Snake  Kyentry,'  sez  'e.  *  Show  it 
dis  minnit !  I  boun'  ter  git  dat  boy  back.' 

"  I  show  yo',  in  co'se',  sez  de  snake,  mighty  sorf,  (  but,  Misteh 
Man,  I  ain'  kin  trabble  in  nuttin  lak  dat  hurry  (de  man  wuz 
des  a-zoonin'  er  long),  I  bleege  ter  go  slow,  kase  I  ain't  got  no 
footses.' 

"  '  Yes  yo*  is,1  sez  de  man,  sez  'e  ;  '  yes  you'  is  got  footses  an* 
Ise  de  one  ter  show  um  unter  yo','  says  'e,  an'  wid  dat  he  gin 
de  slip-knot  er  swing  an'  Ian'  de  snake  on  de  fiah — dey  wuz  er 
good  fiah  o'  bresh  right  dar  handy — an',  bress  de  goodniss  !  de 
footses  des  corned  a-stickin'  out,  an'  de  snake  corned  a  runnin' 
out  o'  dat  fiah,  quick  ez  er  squirr'l  and  quicken. 

"  '  Now  den,'  say  de  man,  ( I  foun'  de  footses,  now  yo'  bleege 
ter  fine  de  hurry.' 

"  An',  mon,  suz,  de  snake  do  fine  de  hurry,  an'  dat  mighty 
suddint,  an'  so  dey  git  ter  de  aige  ob  de  Snake  Kyentry  in  des 
no  time  'tall,  an'  dar  wuz  de  snakes  a-stannin'  on  dey  tails,  an* 
'fo'  dey  c'd  do  nuttin,  de  man  he  holler  out — 

"  *  Hi,  dar!  ef  yo'  come  a  squeegin'  roun'  me,  des  dat  minnit, 
I  pull  de  haid  offen  yo'  bruddeh  hyeah  dat  I  got  a-holt  ob, 
mine  dat!  Lemme  thu  ter  fine  my  son,  ef  yo'  know  wut's 
good  foh  de  hecilt'  o'  de  fambly.' 

"  So  dey  seen  how  'twuz  an'  lef  'im  thu,  an'  he  went 
a-huntin'  an'  a-huntin',  up  an'  down,  right  an'  lef,  foh  dat  boy, 
an'  all  de  time,  mine  yo',  he.  wuz  a-holin'  dat  snake  by  de  neck 
in  de  slip-knot. 

"  Bimeby,  he  fine  de  ole  king  an'  he  tell  he  tale,  an'  he  lay 
he  gwine  ter  grab  de  haid  offen  dat  snake  he  got  in  de  slip-knot, 
ef  he  die  foh  hit  de  nex'  minnit,  ef  he  don't  putty  soon  ketch 
sight  o'  dat  boy. 

" (  Come  on,'  sez  'e,  *  come  on  ;  but  I  lay  dey  '11  be  one  daid 
snake  'fo'  I  fall  in  my  tracks  !  ' 

"  At  de  wuhd,  de  ole  king,  he  call  up  de  crowd  in  de  rattle- 
snake den,  an'  dey  fetch  de  boy  up  'long  wid  um.  Gorry  !  dat 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  231 

wuz  er  sight  !  dat  lil  boy  mungs  all  dem  wigglin'  fawk- 
tongues  !  but  de  man,  he  stan'he  groun'an'  keep  fas'  a-holt  de 
one  in  de  slip-knot. 

"  Den,  w'en  dey  all  git  sottle  down,  de  ole  king  say  unter  de 
lil  boy — 

"  '  Yo'  leggittit  ter  tell  yo'  daddy  goo'-bye,  an'  so  he  come 
a-follerin'  arter  yo'.  Is  yo'  gwine  back  wid  'im  ?  ' 

"  Boy  look  at  he  daddy,  daddy  say,  ( 'Howdy/  Boy  say 
nuttin. 

"  '  Dat  boy  bin  chahm/  say  de  daddy. 

" (  No,  I  ain'  chahm,'  say  de  boy,  '  but  ef  so  be  I  is,  wut  yo* 
a-keerin'  ?  W'en  I  home  yo'  ain'  spik  unter  me  wunst  er 
munt.  De  buzzuhds  mought  er  picked  me  an'  de  wolfses 
gnyawed  my  bone  an'  yo'  ain't  noduss.  I  lay  (I  declare)  I 
s'prise  dat  yo'  miss  me  now.  Goo'-bye,  daddy.' 

"  Wid  dat  de  boy  staht  off. 

" '  Come  back,  oh,  come  back,  my  son  !  I  gwine  ter  treat 
yo'  mo'  betteh  fum  dis  out.  Come  back,  oh,  come  back  !  J 

"  *  Goo'-bye,  daddy,  goo'-bye,'  say  de  boy,  a-lookin'  obeh  he 
shouldeh.  '  'Membeh  me  ter  yo'  gun — dat  am  mo'  yo'  chile 
den  I  is.  Goo'-bye.' 

"  Wid  dat  de  boy  go  cl'ar  off  an'  de  man  ain't  see  'im  no  mo?. 

"  De  man  go  back  outen  de  Snake  Kyentry,  an'  de  brack 
snakes,  dey  lef  'im  go  out  w'en  he  leggo  de  snake  in  de  slip- 
knot, an'  dat  time  wuz  de  las'  time  dat  de  boy  seen  'm  ceppin 
wunst  w'en  he  wuz  a-bisitin'  de  snake  docteh.  He  see  de  ole 
man,  but  de  ole  man  ain't  see  him,  kase  he  wuz  wrop  up  in  er 
snake-skin.  De  ole  man  ain't  see  'im,  but  he  hyeah  'im  laff 
wunst  an'  stop,  an'  lissen. 

"  '  Shucks  !  '  sez  'e,  arter  a-lissenin'  wid  he  han'  ter  he  yeah, 
*  Ise  gittin'  ole  an'  weak  in  de  haid.  Wut  is,  I  kyarn't  hyeah, 
an'  wut  izzent,  soun'  ter  me  plain.  Dat  soun'  wuz  de  echo 
a-mawkin'  (mocking)  fum  de  hill  yondeh,  dat  I  know,  dough  de 


232  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Wid  dat  sayin',  he  pass  on,  an'  de  boy  go  back  ter  de  Snake 
Kyentry  an'  he  git  de  folks  ter  sew  dat  snake-skin  onter  'im. 
He  ain'  nurr  tek  hit  off  no  mo',  so  ef  yo'  see  'im  yo'  ain't  gwine 
ter  know  but  dat  he  am  des  lak  de  comp'ny  he  foun'  in,  an 
hatch  ri'  spang  out  (directly  out  of)  en  er  snake-aig." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Tow  Head,  after  a  pause. 

"  Dat  all,  honey." 

"  Hit  er  mighty  fine  tale,"  said  Granny.  "  I  desh  wush  ter 
de  Lawd  dat  I  know  one  half  dat  fine,  but  all  de  same  hit 
'mine  me  o'  sumpin." 

"  Les  hyeah  tell  wut  dat  'mindin,  am,  ef  so  be  yo'  mine  ter 
faveh  de  comp'ny,  Aunt  Jinny." 

"  Hit  des  de  lil  foolish  tale  ob  how  one  time  Miss  Hawk  bin 
lub-sick  foh  Misteh  Rattlesnake.  Hit  er  foolish  tale,"  continued 
Granny,  turning  her  bright  eyes  on  Aunt  Mary,  and  inhaling 
tobacco-smoke  with  a  long-drawn  sigh — "  hit  mighty  foolish, 
but  hit  got  er  lessun  too  foh  some  folks,  ef  dey  des  tuhn  dey 
'tenshun  ter  heedin'  de  same." 

"  Dat  de  tale  we  want,  dat  tale  wid  er  lessun  (with  a  moral). 
De  Lawd  know,  we  po'  ooman-folks  a-needun'  all  de  lessun  we 
kin  git,"  cried  Aunt  Mymee,  with  unusual  good  humour  in  her 
tones,  and  unusual  malice  in  her  glance. 

Madame  Bougerau  agreed  with  both  the  speakers,  and  so 
did  Aunt  Mary,  presumably,  for  she  nodded  several  times,  and 
doubtless  would  have  spoken  if  a  paroxysm  of  giggles  had  not 
rendered  it  impossible. 

"  Dis  de  tale,"  said  Granny. 

"  One  time  dey  wuz  er  putty  hawk — not  one  o'  dem  speckle 
kine — dat  kine  dat  'pear  some  w'ite  an'  some  ash,  wid  er  tetch 
o'  green  flung  on  ez  ef  yo'  wuz  a-lookin'  at  'er  thu  er  bottle. 
Shuh  !  yo'  know  de  kine  well — one  dem  lil  hawk,  de  coleh 
(colour)  ob  de  young  tree  bahk.  Dat  wuz  in  de  ole  time,  w'en 
all  de  crittehs — a-countin'  in  de  beasteses  longer  de  buhds  an' 
de  bugs,  an'  de  snakes  an'  de  bees  an'  de  trees,  an'  all  de  turr 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  233 

greens — wuz  mo'  fr'en'ly-spurriter  tergedder  den  dey  e'er  dar' 
ter  be  dese  days.  Well  den  !  Miss  Hawk,  she  fr'en'ly  wid  all 
de  neighbehs,  an'  mo'n  dat,  dey  wuz  fr'en'ly  wid  huh — mo' 
speshul,  de  he  ones,  kase,  mon,  she  wuz  putty.  She  wuz  de 
putties  gal  in  de  sottlemint,  an'  she  de  one  dat  knowed  it,  kase 
all  de  turrs  tole  'er  so,  an'  de  half  o'  de  men-folks  ax  'er  ter 
merry  um. 

"  c  Shuh  !  '  sez  Miss  Hawk,  sez  she,  l  my  time  ain't  come  yit. 
Ise  bleege  ter  yo'  gemplums,  but  I  ain't  see  no  call  ter  gin  up 
my  fun  an'  go  ter  cookin'  vittles  an'  packin'  fiah-wood,  stiddier 
(instead  of)  settin'  in  de  front  room  wid  beau-ketchers  in  front 
ob  my  yeahs  an'  all  my  bes'  close  on,  de  wiles  de  boys  draps 
hunks  o'  sugah  an'  churry-gum  in  ter  my  lap.  Bleege  ter  yo', 
sholy,  but  I  ain't  fegit  how  mammy  hatter  (had  to)  wuhk.' 

"Dat  de  way  she  go  on  wid  'er  foolishniss,  but,  nemmine  ! 
huh  time  a-comin',  comin'  suddint,  too !  She  fall  in  wid  er 
lazy,  wuthless,  triflin',  young,  speckildly  ratttlesnake,  wid 
squint  eyes  an'  er  oiler  front  tooth.  De  minnit  she  clap  de 
eye  on  im  she  gone !  Gone  cheap,  too  !  foh  dat  wuthless 
cuss,  he  put  in  de  time  a-swallerin'  de  chilluns  ob  Miss  Fiel' 
Mouse  an'  Miss  Toad  an'  Ole  Man  Rabbit — dat  wut  he  lub,  an* 
he  lub  um  mo'n  de  sweet  looks  ob  all  de  hawks  in  de  kyentry. 
Wen  he  sees  dat  foolish  gal,  dough,  wid  er  eye  wall  at  'im  an* 
'er  pin-feddehs  all  a  trimmelin',  he  look  mighty  sorf  an'  pleasant, 
an'  dat  des  tuhn  'er  haid  cl'ar  roun'.  She  fa'r  t'ink  de  groun* 
not  good  nuf  foh  'im  ter  crawl  on.  She'd  orteh  knowed  betteh'n 
dat,"  continued  Granny,  warming  with  her  subject,  "  but,  Ian' 
o'  Goshin  !  she  des  foh  all  the  worl'  lak  some  o'  de  oomans  o'  de 
prisin'  time,  dat  dunno  w'en  dey  well  fix,  but  am  des  ketched 
an'  spiled  wid  her  grin  ur  two,  lak  er  fly  in  bilin'  'lasses." 

Aunt  Mary  laughed  so  long  and  loudly,  that  Tow  Head 
grew  indignant  at  the  interruption,  and  stamped  her  little  foot. 

*' '  Tain't  no  use  ter  stomp,  honey,"  said  Granny,  with 
melancholy  sternness,  "  no  use  'tall.  Ef  er  ooman  dat  am  got 


234  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

ter  de  age  ter  know  betteh  am  gwine  licketty-svvitch  down  de 
road  ter  sorrer,  she  gwine,  dat  all !  But  de  time  come  !  de 
time  come,  sartin  shore  [Granny  grew  quite  oracular],  w'en 
she  gwine  ter  laff  outen  de  turr  side  o'  huh  mouf,  an'  de  sounr 
ain't  lible  ter  'sturb  de  comp'ny  ef  dey  got  sumpin  ur  nurr  ter 
tell  de  res'  o'  de  folks  dat  mo'  sot  on  wuhkin'  dey  mines  den 
bustin'  de  windehs  wid  de  haw-haws." 

Aunt  Mary  instantly  became  grave  and  apologised  most 
politely. 

Peace  was  restored  and  the  story  went  on. 

u  One  day  dey  wuz  er  big  dinin'  at  Miss  Hawk's  house.  Huh 
pa  gin  dat  big  dinneh-pahty,  an'  dey  wuz  er  heap  o'  eenvites 
sent  out,  an'  Miss  Hawk,  she  see  unter  hit  dat  Misteh  Rattle- 
snake git  de  berry  fust  one.  Suhs,  dat  wuz  er  hongry  rattler 
an'  he  wuz  on  de  groun's  de  fust  one,  an'  he  stay  on  hans 
twell  all  de  res'  done  putt  on  dey  t'ings  an'  gone  'long  home. 

"  Miss  Hawk,  she  wuz  mos'  tickle  ter  def  w'en  she  noduss 
dat.  She  ain't  kyurl  de  corndehs  obhuh  mouf  so  high,  dough, 
w'en  de  fambly  come  a-runnin'  wid  de  wuhd  dat  one  o'  huh  lil 
sissies  wuz  a-missin',  All  han's  dey  s'arch  an'  dey  s'arch  an' 
dey  run  'cross  ter  de  neighbehs  an'  ax  is  dey  see  'er,  an'  won't 
dey  fine  out  is  de  chile  stray  off  wid  enny  o'  de  comp'ny. 
All  dat  ruction  no  use.  De  lil  sissy  gone,  clean  /  Dey  kyarn 
fine  hide  nur  ha'r  un  huh. 

"  Den  Miss  Hawk,  she  up  an'  'low,  she  do,  dat  Ole  Man 
Owl,  dat  all  de  worl'  know  kin  eat  mo'n  he  wuth  enny  dey  in 
good  vittles  dat  hit  am  er  shame  ter  putt  inter  'im,  done  et  up 
dat  po'  chile. 

"  She  ain't  wunst  tuhn  de  s'pishin  ob  de  folks  pun  Rattle- 
snake. 

"  Arter  dat,  all  de  frens  ob  de  family  semmle  an'  mou'n  wid 
de  hawks,  an'  'fo'  de  Lawd  !  de  mo'  dey  mou'ned  de  mo'  dey 
hatter,  kase  de  lil  hawks  all  a-gwine,  one  arter  nurr.  De  ole 
folks,  dey  ain't  'cuse  nobody,  at  de  fust,  but  Miss  Hawk,  she 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  235 

keep  hahpin'  (harping)  on  dat  one  string  'bout  Ole  Man  Owl 
twell  dey  all  tek  hit  up  an'  go  off  de  hannel  an'  up  an'  tax  'im 
wid  hit  'fo'  de  whole  crowd. 

"  Dat  huht  Ole  Man  Owl'  feelins,  hit  do,  but  he  hole  hisse'f 
down  an'  tork  back  mighty  ca'm,  an'  say  he  ain't  de  one  ter 
play  no  sech  tricks  on  dem  dat  treat  'im  right,  an'  he  gwine 
ter  fine  out  who  done  dat  meanness  by  de  day  he  name — I  done 
fegit  des  wut  day  'twuz,  but  'twuzzent'  fur  off — an'  ef  he  ain  . 
fine  out  who  de  one  ter  blame  den  he  gin  um  leabe  ter  hang 
'im  in  de  fence-corndeh  lak  her  aig-suckin'  torm-cat." 

"  Just  as  Granny  did  the  poor  black  cat  that  broke  up  the 
speckled  hen's  nest  ?  " 

"  Des  de  same  way,  honey,  des  zackry  de  same,  an'  all  de 
hawks  say  dat  er  bargain,  an'  so  he  sot  hisse'f  a-watchin'  an'  a- 
spyin'." 

"  Did  he  catch  the  thief  ?  "  questioned  the  little  girl,  with 
an  air  that  indicated  that  she  took  an  affirmative  answer  for 
granted. 

"  Not  at  de  fust,  honey,  not  ri'  slam-bang  at  de  fust  off.  Dat 
se'f-same  day,  nurr  hawk  wuz  missin'." 

"Then  what  did  he  do?" 

"  He  des  gun  out  de  wuhd  (gave  out  the  word)  dat  he  wuz  sick 
in  baid  fum  bad  luck  an'  trouble." 

41  Was  he  so  sick?" 

"  Nuck.  He  wuz  des  a-studyin'  up  pun  de  case,  an  w'en  he 
mek  up  he  mine  dat  he  dunno  nuttin  'tall,  den  he  go  a-slippin' 
off  unter  he  granny  dat  lib  Vay  deep  in  de  black  oak 
woodses. 

"  Ole  Granny,  she  mighty  glad  ter  see  'm,  but  she  fuss  at 
'im  mighty  strong  foh  not  gittin'  dar  mo'  sooneh.  W'en  she 
git  dat  offen  huh  mine,  she  tuhn  in  an'  'low  she  know  who 
a-bustin'  he  wuthless  hide  wid  hawk-meat. 

"  '  Den  foh  de  pity  sakes,  Granny,  tell  me !  Ef  yo'  ain't 
a-honin'  ter  go  ter  my  hangin'  tell  me  quick  !  ' 


236  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  I  gwine  ter  let  yo'  tell  yo'se'f,  my  son.  Hit  'u'd  be  er  po7 
'scuse  foh  her  owl  ob  oweh  (our)  fambly  dat  hatter  be  tole.' 

"  Den  he  git  up.  He  frumple  he  feddehs  an'  blink  he  eye 
an'  say  he  er  plum  fool,  he  know,  an'  he  boun'  foh  ter  die,  kase 
he  granny  'spise  'im  too  much  ter  let  'im  lib. 

"  At  dat  she  scole  some  mo'  an'  den  she  fall  ter  wuhk  an' 
tell  'im  how  ter  ketch  de  one  dat  et  de  fambly. 

"  Arter  dat,  he  cock  up  he  haid  an'  whustle  er  chune,  an'  I 
boun'  yo'  he'd  a-darnced  er  jobilee  ef  he  footses  wuzzen'  so  big. 
Den  he  fly  back  whah  he  come  fum,  an'  dar  wuz  all  de  folkses 
soun'  ersleep.  Wen  he  done  noduss  dat,  he  tek  seb'n  lil  strings 
an'  he  tie  um  roun'  de  laigs  o1  de  seb'n  lil  hawks  dat  wuz  lef, 
an'  den  he  tie  de  turr  eend  o'  de  strings  ter  er  good  stout 
hick'ry  pole  dat  he  foun'  druv  up  nigherbouts. 

"  All  dat  done,  he  crope  ter  baid  an'  res'  hisse'f,  and  wait  foh 
he  game  ter  git  in  de  trap. 

"  He  ain't  hatter  wait  long.  Nex'  mawnin',  nurr  hawk  gone. 
Whooh  !  wut  er  ruckshin  dat  raise  !  Now  dey  boun'  ter  hang 
Ole  Owl,  sholy. 

"  He  let  on  lak  he  mos'  skeer  ter  def. 

"  '  Come,  tek  me  by  de  han','  sez  'e,  (an'  lead  me  ter  de  place 
whah  dem  young  hawks  is,  an'  den  yo'  kin  hang  me,  ef  de  t'ief 
I  promuss  yo'  ain't  ketch  dar.' 

"  So  dey  lead  'im  dar,  an'  den  dey  'mence  ter  twust  er  rope 
an'  ter  fetch  de  planks. 

" '  Shuh !  sumpin's  fegot,'  sez  'e.  *  Count  dem  hawks  dat's  lef.' 

"  Dey  count  um,  an'  w'iles  dey  a-countin',  dey  noduss  how 
dey  all  fluttin'  an'  floppin'  an'  all  tankle  up  in  de  strings. 

"  *  Huh  !  wut  dis  ?  '  dey  say.  *  Whah  all  dese  hyeah  strings 
come  fum  ?  ' 

"  At  de  same  time  dey  see  dey  fas'  ter  de  pole. 

"  Owl,  he  count  de  strings  at  de  pole.  One,  two,  thee,  fo', 
fibe,  six,  seb'n.  Seb'n  strings.  Den  he  count  de  budhs.  One, 
two,  thee,  fo',  fibe — six  !  Six  budhs  ! 


AND  GATHER  SORCERERS.  237 

"  '  My  frens,'  sez  'e,  *  las'  night,  dey  wuz  seb'n  strings  tied 
unter  seb'n  budhs,  an'  de  turr  eend  tied  unter  dat  pole.  Dis 
mawnin'  seb'n  strings  am  tied  unter  dat  pole  yit,  an'  des  ba'ly 
(barely)  six  buhds  am  in  sight.  Dat  seb'nt'  string  am  still  on  de 
pole  ;  des  feel  roun'  an'  see  wut  am  on  de  turr  eend  un  hit.' 

"So  dey  all  went  ter  wuhk,  feelin'  'long  dem  strings,  an* 
'twuzzen'  no  fun  wid  dem  strings  all  tangle  up  mungs  dem 
flopping  squallin'  young  ones. 

"Rattlesnake,  he  look  sorter  quare  de  fust  minnit,  an'  he 
'low  'twuz  er  shame  ter  pester  dem  po'  chilluns  so,  an'  he  ax 
leabe  ter  cut  dem  strings  an'  free  de  po*  t'ings  'fo'  dey  git  huht. 
He  wuz  a-slippin'  eroun'  an'  a-axin'  ter  borry  er  knife  'fo*  dat, 
kase  he  ain't  got  none,  but  he  ain't  mek  out  ter  git  one  yit. 

"  Dey  ain't  nobody  pay  no  tenshun,  dey  too  much  tuck  up 
wid  tracin'  up  dat  odd  string. 

"  Suhs,  dey  foun'  out ! — an'  my  ! — ob  all  de  hollerin'  sence 
de  worl'  wuz  made  ! 

"  Dat  —  string  —  wuz  a-hanghV  —  out — o' — de — jaws — o* — 
Rattlesnake's  own  se'f ! 

"  Putty  Hawk,  she  holler  lak  de  booggers  (bogies,  ghosts)  got 
'er,  but  w'en  she  git  'er  bref  an'  come  to,  don't  she  sottle  'im  !  " 

"  What  did  she  do  ?  " 

"  She  et  'im,"  said  Granny,  solemnly,  and  looking,  not  at  the 
child,  but  at  Aunt  Mary.  "  She  et  'im,  she  sholy  did,  an'  dat 
whah  she  show  huh  good  sense  an'  mannehs,  stiddier  'lowin  ob 
'im  ter  rune  huh  an'  all  de  whole  fambly.  She  flewed  onter 
'im  an'  she  hit  'im  er  clip  twixt  de  eyes.  Dat  stonded  'im,  an' 
den  she  tuck  'im  up,  she  did,  an'  she  flewed  wid  'im  up  onter 
er  daid  sycamo'  lim',  an'  dar  she  des  natchelly  tored  Jim  strip 
fum  strip  an'  den  she  et  'im.  Dat  mo'  sense  den  some  folks 
got,  speshul  w'en  hit  come  ter  snakes-in-de-grass." 

"  Dey  do  say,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  with  a  desire  to  keep  the 
conversation  from  becoming  too  personal,  "  dat  ef  er  pussen — 
dat  am,  er  lady,  ur  er  gen'mun,  ur  er  chile  too-r-kin  kill  de  fust 


238  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

snake  dey  see  in  dey  life,  dey  kyarn't  ne'er  git  huhted  by  snakes 
arter  dat." 

What  Granny  would  have  answered  will  always  be  a  matter 
of  conjecture.  She  opened  her  mouth  with  an  air  as  oracular 
as  that  of  a  pythoness,  but  the  "  turn,  turn,  turn  "  of  a  banjo 
at  the  door  caused  her  to  shut  it  without  giving  forth  one 
word. 

"  Turn,  turn,  turn,"  went  the  banjo,  keeping  time  to  a  dismal 
chant  with  which  Uncle  John  serenaded  Aunt  Mary,  "  turn, 
turn,  turn  ;  tim,  tim,  tim  " — 

"  Now  hit's  once  to  you 
My  lub  was  true, 

But  now-ow  I  keer  nuttin  erbout  you. 
Foh  yo'  parrients  treated  me  wid  scawn— • 
Sech  conduc'  do  delay  me  ! — 
Now  I'll  come  no  mo'  widin'  yo'  do' 
Ter  tell  yo'  dat  I  lub  you. 
So  I  tuhn  my  back  an'  scawn  erway-ay-a 
No  mo'  time  ter  tarry. 
No,  nevveh  will  I  ma-a-arry." 

"  Tum-tim,  tum-A/w." 


XVII. 
MORE  SNAKES. 

E  tale  o'  Aunt  Jinny,  turr  night,  'mine  me 
ob  de  tale  o'  Owl  an'  Bracksnake,  and  wut 
dey  do  o'  de  aigs,"  said  Big  Angy,  absent- 
mindedly  reaching  for  a  "  filling  "  of 
Granny's  tobacco  instead  of  replenishing 
her  pipe  from  the  pouch  tucked  under  her 
girdle. 

"  Tuhn  loose  dat  tale,  do  so,"  cried  Aunt 
Mymee,  authoritatively. 

Aunt  Mymee  had  just  "  charmed "  a 
SNAKE  AND  OWL.  "  misery  "  out  of  Big  Angy's  knee,  done 
it  for  a  price  that  even  the  unhappy  possessor  of  the  "  misery  " 
considered  reasonable,  so  it  was  well  to  oblige  her  with  a  tale 
that  cost  nothing.  Angy  therefore  related  this  : — 

In  the  old  time — not  the  very  oldest,  when  all  things  were 
very  friendly — Owl  and  Blacksnake  were  not  great  favourites 
with  the  other  creatures.  In  consequence  of  this,  they  were 
to  a  great  extent  dependent  on  each  other  for  society,  and 
many  were  the  rehearsals  of  evil  gossip  they  had,  as  they  sat 
together  on  a  claybank  or  the  low,  dry  limb  of  some  stunted 
tree.  They  talked  much,  and  always  unkindly,  of  their 
neighbours.  They  were  companions,  but  not  friends,  for 
whenever  they  met,  each  slily  tried  to  make  the  other  tell 

239 


240  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO* 

her  secrets  while  withholding  her  own.  They  were  both 
sorceresses  of  great  power  and  malignity.  Truly  each  was 
worthy  to  be  the  other's  only  associate.  While  they  were 
plotting  and  planning  together  against  their  acquaintances, 
and  bringing  bad  luck  to  the  harmless  and  unfortunate,  they 
were  also  secretly  considering  how  they  could  do  each  other 
great  wrong.  Above  all  things,  Blacksnake  wished  for  some 
owl-eggs,  for  next  to  the  hot  and  quivering  brains  of  a  rat 
nothing  could  give  more  power  for  conjuring  ;  but  she  did  not 
long  for  them  more  ardently  than  did  Owl  for  a  meal  of  snake- 
eggs.  Owl  was  getting  old  and  rheumatic,  and  had  tried  the 
ointment  made  of  black  dog's  grease  without  having  her 
youthful  suppleness  and  vivacity  restored.  Only  snake-eggs 
could  make  her  young  and  active  once  more.  The  two  talked 
and  talked,  and  paid  each  other  deceitful  compliments,  and 
all  the  while  they  were  burning  and  tingling  to  get  at  each 
other's  nests. 

One  day  Owl  found  her  opportunity.  Blacksnake  had  gone 
to  a  great  meadow  of  tall,  rough  grass  to  hunt  young  rats,  for 
it  was  the  season  when  many  were  to  be  found,  if  one  looked 
in  the  right  place.  Scarce  had  she  glided  away  when  Owl, 
blinking  in  the  dim  light  (it  was  a  cloudy  day,  else  weak  as  her 
eyes  were  she  could  not  have  been  out  at  all),  came  searching 
about  for  the  coveted  "  medicine."  She  soon  found  the  eggs, 
tore  open  their  tough  envelopes,  and  ate  the  "  meat "  with 
great  satisfaction.  This  done,  she  flew  away,  saying  to  herself 
as  she  did  so — 

11  That  is  a  great  matter  settled  for  me,  and  no  one  can  ever 
know.  Certainly,  Blacksnake,  if  she  has  any  suspicions,  will 
fasten  them  on  Weasel,  or  Ferret,  or,  perhaps,  Gopher.  Yes, 
she  is  likely  to  think  that  Gopher,  stirring  around  where  he 
was  not  wanted,  destroyed  them  as  readily  from  a  love  of 
mischief  as  the  others  would  from  the  pleasure  they  have  in 
sucking  eggs." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  241 

Two  things  she  had  forgotten — to  wipe  her  foot  as  well  as 
her  mouth,  and  to  consider  that  a  fragment  of  shell  can  tell  a 
tale  better  than  a  whole  egg.  While  she  was  eating  she  had 
spilled  a  portion  of  the  "  egg-meat  "  and  stepped  in  it.  She 
did  not  notice  that  this  left  a  print  of  her  foot  beside  the 
rifled  nest.  The  other  silent  witness  was  the  shell.  There 
were  no  tooth  marks  such  as  Weasel,  or  Ferret,  or  Gopher 
would  make  on  its  tough  edges.  Either  accuser  was  enough, 
but  she  flew  away  without  reckoning  on  even  one  of  them. 

When  Blacksnake  went  home  she  was  almost  broken-hearted. 
She  could  not  at  first  discover  any  clue  to  the  robber ;  her 
suspicions  were  confused  and  contradictory.  When  she  became 
calmer  she  carefully  examined  the  ground  and  found  Owl's 
footprint.  Then  she  became  very  quiet.  She  coiled  herself  up 
under  some  leaves  and  meditated  on  vengeance. 

Next  day  Owl  made  a  call,  looking  as  innocent  as  she  could. 

Blacksnake  was  not  at  home. 

Owl  waited  a  little,  but  as  Blacksnake  did  not  return,  she 
went  home  when  the  sun  shone  out. 

The  next  evening,  when  her  mate  relieved  her  of  the  care  of 
the  nest,  she  went  back. 

Still  no  Blacksnake  ! 

A  third  and  a  fourth  visit  she  made,  and  still  Blacksnake  did 
not  make  her  appearance. 

Owl  did  not  know  whether  to  be  relieved  or  doubly  appre- 
hensive. Either  Blacksnake  had  grieved  herself  to  death  or 
she  had  gone  into  some  secret  place  to  work  spells  of  divination 
or  cursing.  The  case  called  for  serious  thought.  Owl  set  out 
for  home  feeling  very  serious.  As  she  passed  an  old  hollow 
tree,  on  which  she  and  Blacksnake  had  often  held  meetings, 
she  heard  a  faint  voice  calling  her  name.  The  voice  sounded 
from  the  large  limbs,  and  evidently  was  Blacksnake's.  In 
another  moment  the  snake's  head  appeared  at  a  knot-hole. 

"  Is  that  you,  my  cousin  ?  "  she  called  to  Owl. 


242  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO^ 

Owl  feigned  great  delight  at  seeing  her,  and  said— 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  dear  Blacksnake  ?  Truly,  I  have 
feared  these  last  days  that  you  were  lost  or  killed." 

"  Almost  have  I  died,"  answered  Blacksnake.  "  Now,  I  pray 
you,  go  quickly  and  summon  the  snake  doctor,  for  I  am  still 
very  ill.  The  other  day  I  came  up  here  to  get  this  fine  nest 
of  young  woodpeckers,  and  was  taken  suddenly  ill — too  ill, 
indeed,  to  move.  You  should  have  the  birds  if  I  could  get  out 
of  the  way  (they  are  behind  me).  Find  the  snake  doctor,  and 
when  he  assists  me  to  get  away  you  can  get  at  the  birds,  which 
I  will  willingly  give  you  for  your  trouble.  I  have  lost  all  taste 
for  them,  my  one  thought  is  to  get  home  and  see  if  my  eggs 
are  hatching.  It  is  now  time  for  that." 

Greedy  Owl  cared  nothing  for  Blacksnake's  illness,  but  she 
was  anxious  to  obtain  possession  of  the  young  woodpeckers. 
She  was  thrown  off  her  guard  too  by  Blacksnake's  ignorance 
of  what  had  befallen  the  eggs,  she  therefore  set  out  with  alacrity 
for  the  pond  where  the  old  snake  doctor  lived. 

She  found  it  a  long  way  to  the  pond,  but  she  reached  it  at 
last,  told  her  errand,  and,  without  waiting  for  the  doctor  to 
bear  her  company,  started  back.  When 'about  half  way  to  the 
tree,  whom  should  she  meet  but  her  husband,  flying  towards 
her  in  great  agitation. 

She  screamed  with  fright  at  sight  of  him,  he  with  joy  at 
sight  of  her. 

"  What  has  happened  to  the  nest  ?  "  she  shrieked. 

"  What  has  brought  you  to  life  ?  "  he  cried. 

When  they  came  close  to  each  other  there  was  a  strange  tale 
to  tell  and  to  be  heard.  Blacksnake  had  gone  to  Father  Owl 
and  told  him  his  wife  was  lying  almost  dead  upon  the  river- 
bank,  and  wished  much  to  see  him  ere  she  let  her  life  slip 
through  her  nose.  Poor  Father  Owl  was  never  a  very  wise 
bird,  he  was  not  a  sorcerer,  he  knew  none  of  his  wife's  tricks, 
so,  as  Blacksnake  promised  that  she  would  look  after  the  nest, 


AND  OTHER  SORCER&RS. 


243 


244  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

he  set  out  for  the  river,  but  having  lost  his  way  was  nearing 
the  pond  instead. 

Owl  shrieked  with  fury  and  dismay.  No  shovel  jammed 
into  the  fire  could  have  stopped  her  voice  that  night,  no 
matter  how  many  people  tried  to  put  the  spell  of  silence  on 
her  in  that  way.  Well  she  knew  she  should  find  a  ruined 
nest  and  no  friend  Blacksnake  watching  over  it.  No,  no  !  she 
did  not  expect  to  see  Blacksnake  again,  but  neither  did  she  expect 
to  hear  her  call  from  a  secret  place  beneath  the  desolated  home — 

"  Another  time,  my  wicked  enemy,  you  would  better  cover 
up  your  tracks,  unless  you  wish  to  prove  that  what  one  can  do 
another  can  do,  and  the  same  measure  can  be  used  for  berries 
or  meal." 

"  You  haven't  told  us  anything  about  their  berries  or  meal," 
complained  Tow  Head. 

"  Dat  am  des  wut  yo'  ma'  call  er  allygateh,"  explained  Aunt 
Mymee. 

"  Mamma  never,  in  all  my  life,  told  me  an  alligator  story  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  honey  !  oh,  yes  !  She  done  tole  er  tale  outen  de 
big  Bible  an'  call  um  er  allygateh." 

"  Allegory,"  corrected  Tow  Head,  with  fine  scorn. 

"  Hit  all  de  same,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  cheerfully,  "  an'  now 
les  go  on  ter  nurr  snake  tale.  Aunt  Jinny,  tell  dat  ole  laughin' 
tale  'bout  de  hoop-snake." 

"  I  done  tell  dat  tale  o'er  twell  hit  gittin'  plum  frazzle  (worn) 
out." 

"  Le's  ha'  'er  wunst  mo'." 

"  Ise  'greeble  unter  dat,  ef  Miss  Boogarry  tell  dat  tale  fust 
dat  she  tole  'bout  nurr  owl  an'  de  snake  she  tuck  ter  fetch  up. 
Dat  tale  sorter  half  in  an'  half  outen  my  membunce  lak  er  rag 
in  er  busted  windeh.  I  boun'  ter  git  um  stuff  back  'fo'  I  kin 
sottle  down  ter  tellin'  sumpin." 

"  He  git  back,  dat  gwick !  "  exclaimed  Big  Angy,  grinning 
and  snapping  her  fingers. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS,  245 

This  is  what  she  put  back  into  Granny's  "  membunce  " — 

THE  SNAKE-EGG. 

There  was  once  a  young  owl  who  was  very  kind.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  a  witch,  and  could  have  been  one  herself  had 
she  wished  ;  but  no  matter  for  that  ;  there  was  no  harm,  no 
unkindness  in  her.  She  was  as  sweet  in  her  nature  as  a  wood- 
dove,  and  always  ready  to  do  any  one  a  good  turn. 

One  evening,  in  the  spring,  as  she  was  flying  around  to  rest 
her  wings — she  had  been  on  the  nest  all  day,  and  felt  cramped 
— she  saw  in  a  place  where  the  earth  had  been  disturbed  a  very 
pretty  little  egg. 

"Alas  !  "  said  she,  "  some  cruel  creature  has  destroyed  a  nest 
and  scattered  the  eggs  around.  This  one  will  I  take  to  my  nest 
and  hatch  with  my  own  eggs.  Perhaps  some  day  I  may  be 
able  to  restore  it  as  a  nestling  to  its  disconsolate  mother." 

So  saying,  she  carried  home  the  egg,  and  in  due  time  hatched 
it  out  along  with  the  little  owlets.  Unfortunately,  it  proved 
not  to  be  a  pretty  little  bird,  but  a  tiny  wriggling  snake.  Owl 
was  disappointed  and  sorry,  but  was  too  compassionate  to  throw 
it  out  of  the  nest.  She  warmed  it  against  her  own  bosom  ;  she 
fed  it  as  she  did  her  own  children  ;  she  cared  for  it  in  every 
way  as  if  it  were  one  of  them  ;  so  it  throve  finely. 

When  she  went  off  one  day  to  search  for  food,  she  had  no 
thought  that  she  would  return  to  an  unhappy  home  ;  but  so  it 
came  to  pass.  On  her  return  home  she  found  one  of  the  owlets 
missing.  She  inquired  where  he  was. 

The  other  owlets  did  not  know.  They  had  been  asleep. 
Only  the  snake  had  been  awake.  He  told  his  foster-mother 
that  he  had  seen  a  terrible  winged  monster  swoop  down  and 
carry  away  dear  little  brother  owl. 

That  night  snake  could  eat  no  supper,  so  grieved  was  he  over 
the  loss  they  had  sustained. 


246  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

The  next  week  the  poor  owl  lost  a  daughter  while  she  was 
away  from  home. 

Only  the  snake  saw  the  little  sister  carried  away  by  the  same 
monster  who  had  taken  off  the  brother. 

Again  he  grieved  so  sorely  that  he  could  not  eat  his  supper. 

The  mother-owl,  suffering  terribly  from  grief  and  wishing 
for  his  sympathy,  drew  near  to  him  and  laid  her  claw  on  him. 

Oh,  terrible  !  she  felt  an  owlet's  head  !  In  an  instant  she 
understood  all.  She  was  as  quick  to  act  as  to  understand.  She 
tore  the  deceitful  little  snake  apart  and  rescued  her  daughter. 
Her  son,  alas  !  she  never  saw  again. 

Since  that  time  owls  have  never  taken  strange  eggs  to  hatch, 
nor  have  they  allowed  them  in  their  nests. 

(<  Now  foh  dem  tarnil  hoop-snake." 

"  We  hab  mos'  nuff  snake,"  said  Big  Angy,  thoughtfully, 
as  she  stopped  a  sneeze  by  pinching  her  upper  lip  till  she 
looked  not  unlike  a  crotalus  herself.  "  Dey  ain'  de  bes'  o' 
companie  any  times,  dough  dey  be  dem  at  t'ink  so,  but  no  ter 
de  tase  o'  me,  e'en  ef  I  kin  git  de  craft,  de  sottlety  fum  um. 
Me  brer,  he  wuz  turr  way.  *E  play  wid  um,  tork  wid  um,  hab 
um  in  de  baid — rattlesnake,  coppeh-h aid,  rasseh-bleu  (blue-racer), 
bracksnake,  j'int-snake,  glass-snake — de  w'ich  hab  two  laig. 
(All  snake  hab  laig,  to-be-sho,  but  de  res'  kip  um  tuck  out  o' 
sight.)  Den  he  ami  wid  de  hoop-snake,  too.  Dey  don'  roll 
on  Yra,  oh,  but  no  !  'E  des  han'  an'  glub  wid  um." 

"I  ain't  de  one  dat  'sturb  'im  in  dat"  said  Granny,  with 
emphasis.  "  Ise  seed  one  o'  dem  crittehs  des  wunst,  an'  so  Gord 
he'p  me  out !  I  gwine  ter  let  dat  las'  me  twell  de  Jedgmint  Day." 

"  Dar  yo'  is,  fa'r  stahtid  on  dat  tale  we  all  honin'  foh  !  Des 
go  ri'  on  now,  Aunt  Jinny." 

11  Dat  hoop-snake  I  seen,  I  seen  a-rollin'  ercrost  de  perarer, 
an'  de  way  /  putt  ercrost  dat  perarer  wuz  er  sight  ter  mek  er 
race-hoss  tiuhd  (tired).  I  des  far  (fairly)  split  de  win'  !  I  jump 
in  de  do'  w'en  I  git  home,  and  I  slam  de  do'  shet,  an'  I  ain't 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  247 

open  um  fob  lub  nur  money  twell  Ole  Mistis,  she  sont  some 
un  out  ter  look,  an'  dey  fotch  in  de  wuhd  dat  he  done  roll  by, 
an'  he  done  clean  gone,  an'  he  ain't  nowurs  roun'." 

"  Mebbe,"  suggested  Aunt  Mymee,  just  to  be  provoking,  for 
she  believed  in  Granny's  tale  as  firmly  as  did  Granny  herself — 
"  mebbe  " — and  she  gave  her  eyebrows  and  chin  a  comical 
twist — "  hit  wuz  one  o'  dem  light  coleh  (coloured)  weeds  dat  got 
er  lil  root  dat  break  off  easy,  an'  den  de  win'  blow  um,  hitter 
an'  yan,  'crost  de  perarer." 

"  'Twuzzent  no  weed  !  "  cried  Granny,  indignantly.  "  T'ink 
dat  one  dat  bed  the  'speunce  o'  life  dat  I  bin  thu,  an'  dat  so 
mighty  ole  inter  de  bahgain,  don't  know  er  blowin'  weed  fum 
er  trundlin'  snake  !  Nex',  yo'  gwine  ter  say  dey  ain'  no  diffunce 
'twixt  er  haid  ob  er  lady  ur  gemplum  an'  er  punkin  wid  er 
toller-dip  eenside." 

Aunt  Mymee's  leer  was  the  very  spirit  and  essence  of  aggra- 
vation. 

"  Dey  ain't  so  mighty  much  diffunce,  to-be-sho,"  continued 
Granny,  breathing  hard  and  sweeping  the  audience  with  a 
significant  look  that  added  point  to  the  thrust — "  dey  ain't  so 
mighty  much  ef  all  wuz  lak  some,  but,  bress  de  Lawd  !  dat 
ain't  de  case  wid  me.  Wen  I  sees  weed,  I  know  um  weed  ; 
w'en  I  sees  snake,  I  know  um  snake.  Dis  hyeah  de  way  it 
wuz,"  she  continued,  with  a  change  of  tone  :  "  Ole  Mistis,  she 
done  sont  me  'crost  der  fiel'  unter  Ole  Miss  Poteetses  fob  er 
settin'  o'  Polandeh  aigs — dem  speckle-top-knot  kine — dat  Miss 
Poteet,  she  promsus  Ole  Mistis  she  kin  hab  des  w'ene'er  we 
git  er  hen  dat  show  dat  she  'sturb  in  huh  mine  'bout  settin'. 

"  Well,  den  !  I  went  'crost  de  fiel',  an'  I  met  up  wid  Miss 
Poteet's  Joe,  an'  ax  'im  is  Miss  Poteet  in  de  house,  an'  he  say 
she  am  ;  an'  I  go  'long  an'  wait  in  de  kitchen  an'  sen'  in  er 
gal  ter  ax  'er  kin  I  see  her  'bout  Ole  Misteses  arrint ;  an'  Miss 
Poteet,  she  sen'  wuhd  dat  I  mus'  come  in  de  settin'-room,  an* 
I  go  in  dar  whah  she  a-settin'  a-knittin'  er  sock  fob  Bobby,  an' 


248  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

I  mek  er  curchy  w'en  she  ax  me  howdy  ;  an1  den,  w'en  I  ax  am 
she  well  an'  how  am  all  de  chillums,  an'  say  we  all  tollible, 
t'ank  'er,  den  I  tell  dem  se'f  same  wuhds  dat  Ole  Mistis  say  I 
mus'  say  :  dat,  ef  'twuzzent  ancunvenyuns,  will  she  be  dat  kine 
dat  she  sen'  dat  settin'  o'  speckle-top-knot  hen-aigs  dat  she 
done  promiss  us  some  time  back,  kase  oweh  ole  domminickeh 
des  boun'  ter  set  'aig  ur  no  aig,  but  ef  'tain't  des  ez  'venient  ez 
nuttin  'tall,  why,  she  mussen'  t'ink  o'  sennin'  no  aig  'tall.  An' 
den,  Miss  Poteet,  she  mos'  cry,  she  do,  an'  she  'low  she  mighty 
sorry,  an'  she  wouldn'  a-hed  dat  happen  foh  de  worl' ;  but  de 
troof  an'  de  fack  o'  de  matteh  am  dat  she  gun  de  las'  settin'  o' 
dem  aigs,  des  de  day  befo'  yestiddy,  unter  dem  folks  dat  lib  up 
in  de  Nish  Bottom.  Den,  she  sorter  chuck  up,  she  do,  an' 
smile  an'  say  she  'membeh  now  dat  she  got  er  half  er  settin'  o' 
dem  aigs  lef,  an'  ef  I  kin  come  back  a-Sattiddy — dat  wuz 
a-Chuesdy,  mine  yo' — she  kin  mek  out  er  settin'  foh  me  ef  de 
skunks  an'  de  weasels  don't  git  dey  bid  in  de  hen-house  fust. 
Den  she  gin  me  de  fust  ripe  martis  (tomato)  dat  I  seen  dat 
yeah,  an'  I  et  um  wid  er  lil  salt,  an'  den  I  tuck  out  foh  home, 
an'  I  went  thu  de  young  o'cha'd,  an'  I  sorter  skyurtid  roun'  de 
strip  o'  woods,  an'  I  wuz  a-takin'  er  shawt-cut  'crost  de  perary. 
I  wuz  gwine  'long,  gwine  'long,  easy-lak,  an'  a-gropin'  in  my 
pottit  (pocket)  foh  my  pipe.  I  knowed  dat  pipe  wuz  in  dat 
pottit,  kase  I  emp  de  ashes  out  an'  putt  hit  in  dar,  des  de 
las'-mos'  t'ing  'fo'  I  staht  out,  but  I  kyarn'  fine  um  right  off, 
so  I  grope  an'  I  grope. 

(No  wonder  it  was  necessary  to  "  grope  an'  grope,"  for 
Granny's  pocket  held  almost  as  large  and  varied  a  collection  of 
useful  articles  as  did  that  famous  bag  of  "  The  Swiss  Family 
Robinson.") 

"  I  grope,  an'  I  grope,  an'  I  grope,  an?  I  grope,  kase  I  feel 
lak  gittin'  er  whuff  ur  two  ter  sottle  dat  martis,  but  tuck  up 
wid  dat  pottit  ez  I  wuz,  all  on  de  suddint — de  Lawd  on'y  know 
de  w'y  an'  de  whahfo' — I  look  ahine  me.  I  look  oweh  my 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  249 

shouldeh,  an',  bress  Peteh  !  de  bad  luck  was  a-follerin'  me,  dat 
quick  !  I  wuz  des  in  de  middle  ob  de  perarer,  an'  de  grass 
wuz  high  an'  all  tankle  up  tergerrer  in  sorter  bunches  mos' 
evvehwhurs,  but  des  whah  I  wuz,  wuz  er  sorter  high  roll  o'  dat 
perarer,  an'  up  dar  wuz  sorter  dry  an'  bar',  and'  des  ahine  me 
on  de  bar'  place,  des  a-comin',  wuz  dat  hoop-snake.  I  knowed 
wut  'twuz  de  minnit  I  laid  eyes  on  him.1  Lawd  o'  mussy  !  I 
reck'n  I  wuz  'bout  ez  ole  ez  de  olest  libbin',  but  de  way  dis 
niggeh  lope  out  wuz  er  shame  unter  er  race-hoss  !  My  !  how 
I  do  run  !  De  knots  in  de  grass  ketch  me.  Nemmine,  ain't 
got  no  time  ter  tarry  !  Lope  on  !  De  stumps  in  de  new  fiel' 
stump  my  toe.  Nemmine,  ain'  got  no  time  ter  tarry  !  Lope 
on  !  De  bresh  beyant  de  fiel'  scratch  at  me.  Nemmine,  am' 
got  no  time  ter  tarry  !  Lope  on  !  Git  out  in  de  big  road.  De 
ruts  am  deep  an'  rough.  Nemmine,  ain'  got  no  time  ter  tarry ! 
Lope  on!  Meet  er  drove  o'  hogs.  Man  holler  out,  'Don' 
scatteh  dem  hogs  ;  turn  out  !  '  Nemmine,  ain'  got  no  time  ter 
tarry  !  Lope  on  !  Man  holler  an'  cuss,  hit  me  in  de  back  wid 
er  big  clod.  Nemmine,  ain'  got  no  time  ter  tarry  !  Lope  on  ! 
Come  ter  de  bars.  Dey  ain't  let  down.  Jump  de  fence. 
Nemmine,  ain'  got  no  time  ter  tarry  !  Lope  on  !  Dawgs  run 
ter  meet  me.  Stumble  o'er  pup.  Mammy  m;  d  t'ar  my  dress. 
Nemmine,  ain'  got  no  time  ter  tarry  !  Lope  on  !  Ole  Mistis 
a-stannin'  in  de  do'  o'  de  Big  House,  holler  at  me.  Nemmine, 
ain'  got  no  time  ter  tarry  !  Lope  on  !  Git  in  de  cabin  !  Bang 
de  do'  !  Set  down  on  de  flo',  an',  w'en  I  kin  git  bref,  des  holler 
an'  squall  lak  er  sinneh  at  er  camp-meetin'.  Mo'n  dat,  I  ain't 
open  dat  do'  foh  coaxin'  nur  cussin',  twell  Ole  Mistis,  she  come 
down  an'  tork  ter  me,  an'  den,  w'en  she  get  de  eensight  o'  de 
marter,  she  sen'  out  de  boys  an'  de  dawgs  ter  hunt  de  critteh, 
an'  den,  w'en  dey  come  back  an'  say  hit  gone  foh  shoh,  den  I 
open  dat  do',  an'  Mistis,  she  lead  me  ter  de  house — she  tuck 

1  The  hoop-snake  is  poisonous,  and  very  much  dreaded.     It  is  believed  to 
make  itself  into  a  circle  or  ring,  and  roll  with  great  speed. — C.  G.  L. 


250  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

me  by  de  ban'  an'  hole  me,  ur  I  won'  go — an'  gimme  er  big  sup  o' 
de  currend  wine  dat  she  mek  wid  'er  own  ban's.  Arter  dat  wine 
wuhk,  den  I  tell  ALL  de  tale,  fum  fust  ter  las' — wut  Itole  widde 
do'  shet  ain't  got  de  'ticlers — an'  she  ain't  laugh,  I  boun'  yo'  ! 

"  My  !  dat  wuz  er  ja'nt  (jaunt) ! 

"  De  nex'  day  I  wuz  dat  squeaky  in  de  j'ints  dat  I'd  a-bin 
baid-rid  shoh,  ef  Aunt  Mary  ain'  rub  me  good  wid  de  grease 
ob  er  brack  dawg." 

"  De  grease  ob  er  rattlesnake  bin  betteh,"  said  Aunt  Mymee. 

"  Sholy,  sholy,  but  den  I  hed  de  dawg-fat,  an'  I  ain'  bed  no 
snake-fat — dat  de  diffunce." 

"  Ay-ee.  De  fat  o'  de  brack  dawg  mighty  good  fob  heap  a' 
t'ing." 

"  So  'tis,  Miss  Boogarry,  so  'tis.  Hit  kyore  de  bres'-kimplaint 
(consumption)  ef  yo'  eat  um,  an'  de  misery  in  de  back  an'  de 
rheumatiz  an'  de  stiff  j'int,  an'  mek  de  ole  ooman  soople  ez  er 
gal  ef  yo'  rub  um  on.  Dat  er  fack  ;  I  done  prube  um.  Tur- 
kumtime  (turpentine)  ain'  nowurs  'longside." 

"  De  w'ite  dawg  de  dawg  fob  me,"  announced  Aunt  Em'ly. 

"  Rattlesnake  haht  de  bes'  foh  bres'-kimplaint,"  cried  Aunt 
Mymee,  finishing  the  fugue  almost  with  a  scream.  "  Swaller 
um  libe  an'  hot,  right  outen  de  snake." 

"  De  snake-breens  is  good  ef  yo'  wanter  git  strenk  in  yo'  haid 
foh  cunjerin',  Ise  hyurn  tell,"  added  Aunt  Mary. 

"  So's  de  breens  ob  er  rat,  ez  we  done  name  afo'.  I  done  seen 
hit  wuhk !  oh,  I  done  seen  hit  wuhk  !  " 

The  others1  awestruck,  not  so  much  at  her  words  as  her 
significant  expression,  made  haste  to  turn  the  conversation  back 
to  its  original  channel,  Big  Angy,  for  a  wonder,  taking  the  lead. 

"Spik  'bout  dem  hoop-snake,"  said  she,  with  a  polite  wave 
of  her  hand  towards  Aunt  Mymee.  4'  Me  young  brer,  he  hab 
sontmint  (sentiment)  at  dem  snake  same  ez  A'n'  Jinny  hab,  an' 
he  hab  de  bad  time  too.  Chooh  !  Lissin  !  A'n'  Jinny,  he 
hab  de  time  o'  werry  dat  mek  'im  medit  (immediately)  er  ole 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  251 

man,  an  dat  in  de  parf  (part)  dat  go  fum  de  fur-trader  house  ter 
dat  HI  cabin  wur  he  ooman  bin.  Helas  !  he  don  'hab  no  dawg- 
fat  ter  mek  'im  young  arteh  dat.  D-QU  vient  il? — Whah  am 
yo'  gedder  dat  fat,  A'n'  Jinny  ?  " 

"  Hit  de  fat  o'  Jody's  dawg,"  replied  Granny,  candidly.  "  He 
wuz  er  vigrous  dawg,  yo'  mine,  an'  he  ain't  ne'er  hed  no  fren 
'cep'  Jody.  Wen  de  mowehs  wuz  in  de  harves'  fiel',  des  back 
o'  dat  time  I  see  de  hoop-snake,  dat  ole  dawg — an'  de  name  un 
'im  wuz  Lion — he  crope  up  ahine  one  o'  de  mowehs  an'  bit  dat 
moweh  in  de  calf  o'  de  laig,  an'  dat  moweh,  he  ain't  so  much 
ez  tek  de  time  ter  cuss,  he  des  up  an'  mow  de  haid  offen  dat 
dawg  wid  he  sife  (scythe).  Dat's  des  wut  he  do,  an'  sarve  ole 
Lion  right  too  ;  but  Jody,  he  wuz  ez  mad  ez  er  nes'  o'  yaller- 
jackits,  but  he  kyarn'  he'p  hisse'f.  Dat  dawg  daid,  an'  dey 
ain't  no  gittin'  he  haid  on  ergin.  So  Jody,  he  hatter  mek  up 
he  mine  ter  dat,  an'  so  he  tuck  er  spade  an'  dug  er  sholleh 
(shallow)  grabe  an'  bury  Lion — me  an'  Mary  a-lookin'  on,  an', 
suhs,  we  des  hed  baig  an'  'pled  foh  de  fat  o'  dat  dawg,  an' 
Jody,  he  'low  he  des  ez  soon  gin  us  de  fat  o'  he  daddy,  pre- 
zackry,  wid  dat  arnser  we  boun'  ter  be  sati'fy,  but  suhs,  dat 
dawg  aid  res'  easy  in  he  grabe" 

Granny  ceased  her  narration,  and  laughed  long  and  silently. 
The  rest  of  the  company  smiled  knowingly. 
"  G'long,  Aunt  Jinny." 

"  Aunt  Mary  an'  me,  we  putt  in  de  mos'io'  de  night  arter  dat 
funil  (funeral)  a-tryin'  out  brack-dawg  grease  in  dat  lil  kittle 
we  mos'ly  biles  greens  in.  Lor  !  lor  !  I  wusht  I'd  a-seed  yo' 
brer  dat  time,  I'd  a-gin  'im  dawg-grease,  an'  weckom." 

"  He  sho  need'n'  um  vaire  bad,"  said  Madame  Bougerau, 
shaking  her  head,  u  vaire  bad.  Dat  time  he  see  no  one  hoop- 
snake,  wid  tail  in  mout,'  rollin',  rollin',  wid  spahks  flyin.'  'E 
see  hunnet,  mille-ye  (hundreds,  thousands)  !  " 

"  He  wuzzent  drunk,  wuz  'e  ?  "  questioned  Aunt  Mymee, 
cautiously. 


252  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

a  Ah  !  but  no.  Hit  happen  dat  wunst  dat  *e  staht  home 
vaire  straight.  'E  'ab  been  at  de  stow  (store)  an*  *e  git  de  grey 
jug  fill  an'  staht  back  vaire  sobre.  He  tek  HI  tasse  wid  fren, 
to-be-sho,  but  drunk  lak  pig — not  'tall  !  " 

(Oh,  Big  Angy,  how  impossible  to  reproduce  that  dialect  of 
thine  !) 

He  set  out  to  ride  that  small  three  miles  between  store  and 
cabin,  on  a  little  pony,  and  thought  nothing  of  it.  He  started, 
he  went  one  mile,  perhaps,  and  then  getting  in  a  hurry  to 
reach  the  supper  he  knew  his  wife  would  have  ready,  he  left 
the  "  big  road  "  and  took  a  short-cut  (path)  that  led  across  the 
Sauk  Prairie.  All  went  well  for  one  mile,  then  the  pony 
jumped  sidewise  and  threw  the  brother  off,  then  he  gave  a 
snort  and  away  he  ran.  The  dismounted  rider  was  very,  very 
much  surprised.  He  had  not  supposed  the  horse  lived  that 
could  throw  him.  He  looked  this  side,  he  looked  that  side,  he 
scarce  could  believe  his  senses.  Chut  !  a  little  pony  to  play 
him  a  trick  like  that !  Well  !  he  must  make  the  best  of  it 
and  walk  home.  Never  mind !  a  mile  is  nothing  of  a  distance 
to  walk,  but  to  be  thrown  ! — and  by  a  little  pony,  at  that ! 
Ptt  1  He  takes  a  few  steps,  then  suddenly  he  understands  the 
case.  He  runs  like  the  pony,  only,  if  there  is  a  difference, 
faster.  He  has  found  himself  at  a  snake-dance,  sure  enough  ! 
Millions  of  snakes — hoop-snakes  !  They  roll  this  way,  they  roll 
that  way.  The  poor  brother  runs  here,  runs  there,  trying  to 
get  away.  They  head  him  off,  they  try  to  roll  on  him.  He 
dodges,  he  darts  about  trying  to  get  out  of  such  company  and 
reach  home.  Indeed,  he  runs  like  the  deer  themselves,  but  the 
snakes  keep  all  that  from  counting  for  anything.  They  keep 
this  up  till  the  sun  goes  down,  they  keep  it  up  in  the  dark, 
and  oh  !  the  sparks  that  fly  from  their  wicked  eyes  make  light 
enough  to  see  the  poor  man  they  are  tormenting.  They  keep 
up  this  torment  till  the  moon  comes  up,  they  keep  it  up,  this 
torment,  till  the  moon  goes  down.  They  keep  it  up  till  day- 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  253 

break.  Then,  when  the  poor  man  is  nearly  dead  and  they 
think  he  will  soon  be  theirs,  a  sudden  thought  comes  to  him 
to  say  an  Ave.  He  says  it  and  a  Pater  Noster,  he  squats  and 
spits.  Then  he  recalls  these  words  of  the  seed  of  the  woman. 
He  says  them.  At  one  and  another  of  those  good  spells  the 
snakes  get  frightened.  They  roll  away  and  he  sees  them  no 
more.  He  tries  to  say  one  more  "  Hail  Mary,"  but  the  words 
stick  and  he  falls  like  a  dead  man.  The  people  find  him  like 
that  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  when  the  children  go  home 
from  the  berry-patch  and  say  they  have  seen  a  dead  man. 
When  the  men  and  women  go  to  him,  they  rouse  him.  His 
children  are  with  the  others.  To  them  he  tells  this  tale,  all 
the  rest  hearing.  Then  he  goes  home. 

"  Did  he  leabe  de  jug  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Mymee,  with  deep 
interest. 

"  No,  ma  mie,  'e  tek  'im  home,  but  lil  use,  kase  w'en  try  tek 
de  sup,  dat  jug  git  nuttin  in  hit." 

"  Dat  wut  I  s'pishin,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  in  almost  too 
cordial  acquiescence. 

"He  ain'  drink  urn,"  cried  Big  Angy,  angrily.  "  Fum  de 
time  'e  fall  fum  de  pony  he  got  no  chance.  Kin  'e  drink  wid 
dem  snake  arter  'im  ?  No  !  de  cawn-cob  jam  in  de  jug  foh 
cawk  all  de  time." 

"  Dar  yit,  w'en  'e  git  hit  home  emp'y  ?  " 

"Suttin.  De  snakes  mus'  a-cunjeh  de  eau-de-vie  out  m'dout 
pull  out  de  cob." 

"  Cose  dey  did,"  said  Granny,  soothingly.  "  I  kinceit  (fancied) 
dat  fum  de  staht.  .  My  !  my  !  my  !  dat  wuz  er  speunce  !  " 

"Troof  dat!"  assented  Big  Angy,  subsiding  into  com- 
placency. 

"  I  gotter  snake  tale  dat  I  hyeah  'way  down  in  Tennessee," 
burst  in  Aunt  Mary,  very  unexpectedly. 

"  Den  ef  yo'  got  de  tail,  dror  um  'long  twell  we  see  de  haid," 
chuckled  Aunt  Em'ly,  proud  of  her  joke. 


254  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"Hit  tail  an'  haid  too,  an'  er  mighty  quare  (queer)  weed 
inter  de  bahgin." 

Aunt  Mymee  was  on  the  alert. 

"Fetch  on  dat  tale,  honey,  dis  minnit !  I  gotter  go  ter  de 
House  putty  soon." 

"  Dey  wuz  mo'n  one  snake,  an'  my  mammy  say,  w'en  she 
tell  hit,  *  Hyeah  de  tale  o'  De  Snakes  an'  de  Quare  Weed,'  an' 
den  she  go  'long  lak  dis — 

"  Wunst,  in  de  ole  times,  dey  wuz  er  man  a-gwine  'long  de 
road,  des  at  sundown.  Hit  wuz  harves'-time  an'  he  hab  he 
sife  (scythe)  inhehan'.  'Long  become,  a-whustlin'  an'a-honin* 
fob  he  suppeh,  w'en  he  see  de  putties'  lil  snake  dat  evveh  wuz 
a-layin'  dar  in  de  road." 

"  Wut  kine  o'  snake,  Aunt  Mary  ?  " 

"  Mebbe  'twuz  er  glass-snake,  glass-snake  mighty  putty. 
Shuh  !  wut  I  a-sayin'  ?  Hit  wuz  longeh  nur  er  glass-snake. 
Hit  wuz  dis  long,  my  mammy  say,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  measuring 
about  twenty  inches  on  her  arm. 

"  Mebbe  'twuz  er  strawberry-snake,  dey  mighty  putty  foh  er 
snake,  wid  dey  red  streaks  an'  speckles." 

44  Yuh  !  Wut  yo'  reckin  er  strawberry-snake  a-doin'  in  de 
road  ?  Dey  hides  in  de  strawberry-leabes,  dey  does." 

"  Green  vipeh,  mebbe." 

(4  'Twuzzen'  no  green  vipeh,"  declared  Aunt  Mary,  beginning 
to  grow  impatient.  "  'Twuzzent  no  green  vipeh  wid  hit  jaws 
puff  out  lak  er  gopheh's.  Hit  wuz  er  putty  snake,  wid  er 
w'ite  belly  an'  er  speckle  back  lak  er  trout,  dat  de  kine  o'  snake 
hit  wuz.  Dar  now  !  Lemme  'lone  twell  I  get  thu  wid  de 
tale  I  gwine  ter  tell." 

"  Aw  ri',  Aunt  Mary,  des  rack  on  twell  yo'  git  ter  de  eend  o' 
yo'  road.  Now  we  git  de  queschin  o'  de  faveh  (favour — appear- 
ance) o'  dat  snake  settle,  /  am'  de  one  that  gwine  ter  th'ow 
nuttin  in  yo'  way.  Des  rack  on,  rack  on,"  said  Granny,  poeti- 
cally. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  255 

"  Dat's  mannehs,  sho,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  still  somewhat 
ruffled.  "  Howsomedevveh,  I  ain'  de  one  ter  kimplain,  dough 
I  mos'  fegit  whah  I  git  ter,  I  bin  haul  up  so  shawt  free  ur  fo' 
times.  Oh,  yes  !  De  man,  he  wuz  gwine  'long  de  road  an'  he 
see  dat  snake  an'  he  ain'  keer  ef  dat  snake  putty  er  not.  He 
des  tek  dat  sife  an'  he  mek  er  lunge  an'  he  cut  dat  snake  in 
two.  Hit  wuz  des  at  sundown  he  cut  dat  snake  in  two,  so,  in 
co'se,  hit  die  right  off." 

11  In  co'se.  All  de  'varsil  worl'  know  dat  no  snake  kin  die 
w'iles  de  sun  up,  nemmine  ef  yo'  cut  um  in  hunnert  pieces." 

"  In  co'se,  but  den  ^twuz  sundown  an'  de  snake,  hit  die  an'  de 
man,  he  mighty  glad,  kase  he  des  hate  snakes  lak  rank  pizon. 
He  kill  de  snake  an'  he  noduss  hit  daid  an'  den  he  go  'long. 
Bimeby  he  look  back  an'  he  noduss  nurr  snake  des  lak  de  fust, 
a-crawlin'  fum  out  de  weeds  in  de  fence-corndeh.  He  sorter 
tuhn  back  w'en  he  see  dat,  an'  he  say — 

"  *  Good  nuff !  I  gwine  ter  hab  two  snakes  cl'ar  offen  de  face 
ob  de  yeath  stiddier  one.  Dis  wut  I  calls  good  luck.' 

"  Wid  dat  sayin',  he  mek  at  un,  but  de  libe  snake  ack  so 
quare,  he  boun'  ter  stop  an'  see  wut  hit  up  ter.  Hit  wuz 
a-kyarin'  er  big  piece  o'  green  weed  in's  mouf.  Hit  wuz  er 
branchin'  piece  o'  weed,  so  I  hyurn  tell,  dat  de  snake  wuz 
a-kyarin'  in  he  mouf,  wid  er  heap  o'  leabes  onter  hit.  Dat 
suttinly  do  look  mighty,  mighty  quare,  so  de  man,  he  wanter 
see  wut  dat  snake  gwine  ter  do  wid  dat  big  branchin'  weed,  so 
he  step  ri'  dar  in  de  road  an'  keep  de  eye  on  dat  snake.  Den 
wut  happun,  ye  reckin  ?  " 

"  Dellaws  !  Aunt  Mary,  wut  ?  " 

"  De  snake  dat  kyarin'  de  weed,  hit  ain'  noduss  de  man  'tall, 
hit  des  crawl,  crawl,  crawl,  twell  hit  git  whah  de  pieces  o'  de 
turr  snake  am.  Hit  crawl  right  up  'longside  de  tail-piece  an' 
hit  sorter  gin  um  er  nudge,  den  it  crawl  up  ter  de  haid-piece 
an'  gin  hit  er  nudge,  an'  dat  sorter  fetch  dem  two  pieces  a-jindin 
(ioining).  Den,  beholes  yo'  !  hit  sorter  bresh  dat  weed  crost  de 


256  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

pieces  an' — whoop  ! — dat  snake  des  ez  gay  an'  libely  ez  deday  hit 
git  outen  de  aig.  Dat  done,  de  two  un  um  slip  ri'  quick  in  de 
weeds  an'  de  man  ain'  see  um  no  mo'.  Wut  he  do  see  am  de 
weed  dey  lef  ahine  um.  He  pick  dat  up  an'  he  look  an'  he 
look.  Hit  ain'  lak  no  weed  dat  he  bin  use  ter  see  a-growinr 
roun'  in  de  pasters  an'  corndehs.  Hit  er  green  branchin'  weed, 
he  say,  an'  hit  smell  sumpin  lak  tansy  an'  sumpin  lak  *  ole  man ' 
(Southern-wood — Artemisia  abrotanuin),  but  'tain't  tansy  anr 
'taint  ole  man." 

"  Snake-weed,  I  boun'  yo'." 

"  Nuh.  'Tain'  no  snake-weed  ne-er.  'Tain'  de  kine  o'  weed 
dat  button  snake-weed  am.  Kase  w'y,  snake-weed,  she  grow  up 
slim,  on  de  perarer,  des  'bout  so  tall  " — measuring  about  two 
feet  from  the  floor  with  her  hand — "  an'  snake-weed,  she  grow 
straight  an'  she  ain't  branch  an'  she  got  de  buttons  at  de  j'ints, 
she  got  de  putty  lil  bloom  'bout  de  purple  coleh  ob  deiun-weed, 
but  dis  hyeah  turr  weed  wuz  mos'  'ticlerly  er  bunch  weed  anr 
er  branchin'  weed.  Wut  de  name  dat  weed?  Wen  yo'  ax 
me,  yo'  got  me  dar,  I  own  dat  up  pintedly.  De  man,  he 
kyarn't  call  um  no  name,  nur  no  turr  man  kyarn'  in  de  worl'. 
De  man  dat  seen  all  dat  done,  he  tuck  dat  weed,  he  do,  an'  he 
staht  'long  todes  home,  kase  now  hit  a-gittin'  late.  Ez  he  go 
'long,  he  look  an'  he  look  at  dat  weed  an'  he  tuhn  um  roun' 
an'  he  smell  um — mebbe  he  tase  um,  I  dunno,  kase  I  ain'  hyeah 
tell — an'  he  mirate  how  dat  weed  kin  ack  so  mighty  cu'i's. 
Hit  look  so  simple  but  hit  ack  cu'i's,  sholy.  Ez  he  go  'long,  go 
'long,  in  er  sorter  trottin'  step,  an'  miratin'  ez  he  go,  all  on  de 
suddint  er  toad  hop  out.  De  man,  he  wuz  a-studyin',  an'  dat 
toad,  hit  s'prise  'im  an'  mek  'im  jump,  an'  oh,  my  Ian' !  he  got 
de  sife-blade  roun'  he  neck,  so  he  kin  hole  de  weed  an'  look, 
an'  he  sorter  stummle,  an'  dat  sife-blade,  hit  de  mos'  cut  de 
neck  un  'im  cl'ar  in  two.  Dat  mought  a-bin  de  eend  o'  'im, 
but  de  good  luck  hab  hit  dat  ez  he  fell  he  putt  up  de  han'  wid 
de  weed  in  hit  at  de  place  whah  de  sife-blade  cut  thu." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  257 

Aunt  Mary  stopped  as  if  the  story  were  ended. 

"  Den  wut  ?  "  asked  an  auditor,  impatiently. 

41  Dat  marter  settle  mighty  quick.  De  man  fall  down,  daid, 
an'  git  right  up,  well.  De  weed  done  dat  good  wuhk  an' 
'twould  a-bin  so  he  couldn'  mek  out  but.  dat  he  dremp  hit,  ef 
'twuzzen'  foh  de  blood  on  he  shuht-colleh.  Yessir  !  dis  er  true 
tale  ez  Ise  er  libbin  critteh,  kase  menny  an'  menny's  de  time 
mammy,  she  go  an'  he'p  de  man  hunt  foh  dat  weed.'1 

"  Kyarn'  dey  fine  none  ?  " 

"  Nuh,  nurr  smidgin  (not  a  bit).-  He  putt  in  all  he  spar'  time 
a  huntin'  dat  weed,  mm  dat  time  fo'th'  but  he  ain'  ne'er  foun' 
none.  He  los'  dat  piece  he  hab,  wut's  wuss." 

"  Huccome  dat  ?  " 

"  Los'  um  w'en  he  fell  down  daid.  Den  'twuz  dahk  an'  de 
road  mighty  dusty.  He  hunt  turr'ble  but  de  dahk  done  come 
on  an'  he  don't  fine  um.  In  de  mawnin'  he  go  hunt  'gin  an' 
he  mos'  'stractid,  but  dat  don'  he'p  out,  kase  he  ain't  see  hide 
nur  ha'r  o'  dat  weed  ter  he  dyin'  day." 

Big  Angy  was  the  first  to  announce  her  approval  of  Aunt 
Mary's  story,  and,  after  the  others  had  enthusiastically  echoed 
her  compliments,  she  went  on  to  say  that  it  reminded  her  of 
that  old  tale,  which  everybody  knew,  of  the  daughter  of  Old 
Grandaddy  Rattlesnake,  who  was  changed  into  snake-weed 
by  her  angry  brother.  Being  importuned  by  Tow  Head  for 
particulars,  she  stated,  concisely,  that  once,  in  the  very  earliest 
times,  Old  Grandfather  Rattlesnake  was  going  away  some- 
where, she  really  did  not  know  where,  and  he  left  his  son  and 
daughter  in  charge  of  the  world.  Now,  the  son  was  very  mali- 
cious and  bad-tempered,  and  he  charmed  men  and  beasts  and 
made  them  come  close  to  him,  when  he  at  once  bit  them  and 
infused  enough  poison  into  their  veins  to  kill  them. 

"  Hole  on  !  hole  on  !  "  cried  Aunt  Mymee,  "  dat  ain't  de  son, 
dat  Ole  Grandaddy  he  own  se'f  yo'  a-tellin'  on." 

"JVo." 

18 


258  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Yessir  !  dat  de  way  de  snake-darnce  come,  darncin'  roun'  de 
Ole  Gran'daddy  ter  git  strenk  'dout  (without)  pizon." 

Big  Angy  inexorably  proceeded  with  her  version  of  the  story. 

The  world  would  soon  have  been  without  anything  in  it  but 
rattlesnakes,  had  not  the  daughter  of  Gran'daddy  been  of  a  very 
different  nature.  She  was  as  kind  as  he  was  cruel,  and  imme- 
diately healed  all  those  whom  he  had  poisoned.  This  went  on 
for  a  long  time,  the  son  biting,  the  daughter  curing.  At  last 
he  discovered  why  his  efforts  to  rid  the  world  of  those  whom 
he  hated  were  unavailing.  When  he  found  that  his  sister  was 
foiling  him,  he  fell  into  a  great  rage  and  said  a  mighty  charm 
which  changed  her  into  a  plant,  and  so  she  remains  to  this  day, 
and  people  call  her  and  her  children  "  snake-weeds."  Fortu- 
nately, her  healing  properties  still  belong  to  her  and  her 
descendants.  If  you  are  bitten  by  the  most  venomous  of 
reptiles,  and  at  once  drink  a  tea  made  of  snake-weed  and  rain- 
water, and  at  the  same  time  bind  on  the  wound  a  poultice  of 
snake-weed  and  milk,  you  will  soon  recover  from  the  bite. 

"  Mighty  quare  how  crittehs  kin  change  eroun  !  " 

"Quare  how  dey  git  merried  an'  raise  up  quare  chilluns, 
too,"  said  Granny.  "  Dar  am  dem  snakes  'way  down  Souf, 
whah  I  wuz  wunst,  wid  wings.  Dem  snakes  de  chilluns  ob  sho 
nuff  snake  an'  snake  docteh." 

"  Dar  now  !  dat  news  ter  me,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly. 

"  Torkin'  'bout  dat  toad  dat  hop  in  de  road  an'  mek  de  man 
kill  hisse'f,  'mine  me  o'  dat  ruckshin  x  Old  Rattlesnake  mek  at 
Miss  Toad's  pahty,"  said  Aunt  Mymee. 

"  Toad  gin  er  pahty  ?  Shuh  !  dat  do  beat  all.  Gin  us  dat 
tale  right  now,  Aunt  Mymee." 

"  Ole  Miss  Toad,  she  bin  a-layin'  off  ter  gin  er  pahty  e'er 

sence  cawn-plantin',  but  de  mo'  she   projeck  on  hit   de  mo' 

sumpin  happun  dat  she  kyarn'  gin  none.     Fust,  de  baby  choke 

hisse'f  wid  er  hoss-fly  dat  wen'  down  de  wrong  way,  den  'er  ole 

1  Riot  insurrection.     Irish,  ruction. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  259 

man  git  tromple  on  by  er  cow  w'en  he  go  out  in  de  medder  foh 
ketch  er  mess  o'  young  hoppehgrasses  foh  suppeh,  den  HI  boy 
kyar  offde  oles'  gal  in  he  pottit  an'  keep  'er  dar  er  week  ur  mo', 
an'  all  de  res'  o'  de  fambly  a-ginnin'  'er  up  foh  daid  an'  mos' 
feerd  she  er  hant  (ghost)  w'en  she  git  back,  den  one  t'ing  come 
up,  den  nurr,  twell  'twuz  mos'  time  foh  w'ite  fros'.  Den  Ole  Miss 
Toad,  she  noduss  cole  weddeh  a-comin'  on  fas'  an'  she  des  r'ar 
an'  pitch  an'  she  'low  she  gwine  ter  gin  dat  pahty  ef  de  whole 
fambly  up  an'  die  de  day  bee-fo'  ;  she  done  sot  huh  foot  down 
on  dat,  she  tell  um  all,  an'  dat  sottle  hit.  So  den  !  she  gun  hit, 
an'  I  boun'  dat  satify  huh  foh  some  time,  an'  dis  hyeah  am  de 
w'ys  an'  de  whahfohs  : — she  git  out  de  eenvites  airly  in  de  week, 
but  de  time  bin  sot  foh  Sat'd'y  in  de  ebenin'.  She  ax  all  huh 
kinfolks  an'  'lations  an'  all  dey  kinfolks  an'  'lations,  she  ax  all 
de  neighbehs  an'  dey  neighbehs,  she  ax  hyeah  an'  she  ax  dar, 
but  she  ain't  ax  Ole  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake.  Deah  suhs,  but 
he  wuz  mad  ! 

"  *  Oh,  yes  ! '  sez  Old  Daddy,  sez  'e?  *  I  reckin  Ole  Daddy  am 
heap  too  ole  foh  gwine  out  ter  git  some  o'  dis  hyeah  lil  snack 
dat  Miss  Toad  a-aimin'  ter  fix  up  ter  stay  de  stummicks  o'  de 
folks  twell  dey  kin  git  back  home  an'  eat  dey  regler  suppeh,' 
sez  'e. 

"  (Miss  Toad,  she  suttingly  wuzzent  er  mighty  fine  provideh.) 

" « Uh  huh  !  co'se  Ole  Gran'daddy  too  ole,'  sez  'e, '  but,  all  de 
same,  I  lay  he  gwine  ter  hab  he  own  'musemint  outen  dat 
pahty  an'  he  gwine  ter  git  er  big  suppeh  outen  dat  pahty  too. 
De  res'  un  um  kin  eat  de  snack,'  sez  'e,  '  an '  den  Ole  Daddy 
kin  go  roun'  by  de  back  do'  an'  lick  up  de  crum's,'  sez  'e,  a- 
lookin'  lak  he  knowed  sumpin  cu'i's,  ( an'  w'en  he  thu  nobody 
gwine  ter  'spute  dat  he  got  mo'  in  he  braid-bastet  den  dem  dat 
got  dar  foh  de  fust  table,'  sez  'e. 

"  So  hit  tuhn  out,  zacry,  too.  Dem  wut  got  de  eenvites 
slick  deyse'f  up  de  bes'  dey  kin  an'  git  ter  de  pahty  yarly  ez  dey 
'low  dey  spectid,  an',  arter  dey  hang  roun'  de  do'  an'  peek  an' 


260  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

dror  back  er  time  ur  two,  dey  mek  out  ter  git  in,  an'  den  dey 
laff  ah'  dey  giggle  an'  dey  tork  an'  dey  chat  an',  bimeby,  de 
gayes'  o'  de  young  uns  git  ter  darncin'  an'  a-playin'  games  wid 
walk-erouns  inter  um.  Oh,  'twuz  er  sassy  crowd  !  Nemmine, 
dough  !  nemmine  !  some  un  um  a-doin'  dey  las'  hoppin'  eroun* 
an'  hit  wuz  dishaways  hit  tuhn  out  dataways — Ole  Gran'daddy 
Rattlesnake,  he  keep  dat  'p'intmint  dat  he  mek  wid  hisse'f,  an' 
w'en  dey  done  et  up  de  suppeh  an'  drink  up  de  bug-juice 
(whiskey)  an'  feel  mo'  pearteh  den  dey  done  yit,  den  he  come. 
He  come  des  lak  he  say  he  gwine  ter,  roun'  by  de  back  do',  an' 
he  creep  an'  he  cr-r-r-eep,  an'  he  go  thu  de  back  do'  an',  he  come 
pun  de  trundle-baid  whah  de  chilluns  bin  putt  ter  baid  soster 
git  um  outen  de  way.  He  stop  dar,  but  he  ain't  stir  up  dem 
chilluns  an'  say  (  howdy,'  he  don't  say  nuttin,  he  des  retch  out 
he  mouf  an'  he  tek  um  inter  hit.  Fus'  one,  den  turr,  he  tek 
um.  He  gin  one  gulf,  dat  one  gone  !  gin  nurr  gulf,  nurr  gone  ! 
an'  he  bat  de  eye  an'  he  grin  dry,  an'  so  he  keep  dat  up  twell 
Miss  Toad,  she  outen  all  dat  big  fambly  ain't  got  n air  one  chile 
an'  she  don't  know  hit  yit,  but  she  gwine  ter,  oh,  she  gwine 
ter! 

"  De  nex*  off  ob  dat  Ole  Gran'daddy  wuz  ter  creep  an' 
cr-r-r-eep  inter  de  settin'-room  whah  de  ole  folks  wuz  a-settin' 
roun'  an'  a-swappin'  dey  ijees.  He  mek  out  ter  gulf  one  un  um, 
but  de  res',  dey  holler  an'  run,  an'  dey  ain't  got  no  time  ter  gin 
wa'nin'  (warning)  unter  de  young  folks  in  de  parlo',  dey  mek  de 
scattimint  so  fas'.  De  young  folks,  dey  a-hoppin'  an'  a-darncin' 
an'  a-cuttin*  up  so  gaily  dat  dey  don't  hyeah  nuttin  but  dey 
own  racket.  Dat  bein'  de  case,  he  creep  an'  he  cr-r-r-eep  in 
mungs  um,  a-keepin'  closte  ter  de  shaddehs  an'  he  mek  out  ter 
git  'bout  fawty-leb'n  gulf  down  'fo'  de  res'  noduss  an'  cl'ar  out. 
W'en  dey  do  noduss,  dat  de  finishmint  o'  dat  pahty.  De  folks, 
dey  putt  an'  run  bedoubt  dey  hats  an'  bunnits  an'  nobody  ain't 
mine  dey  mannehs  ter  say  '  ebenin',  Miss  Toad.'  Dey  run,  dey 
did,  but  des  'bout  half  o'  dem  dat  hed  de  eenvites  wuz  et  up, 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  261 

an'  hit  mos'  sholy  wuz  de  case  ez  he  say  hit  gwine  ter  be,  dat 
Gran'daddy  hab  de  bigges'  suppeh  dat  wuz  et  in  de  settlemint 
dat  night.  Yessir  !  an'  dat  w'y  Miss  Toad,  she  done  gin  up 
pahty-ginnin." 

"  Me  nuttin  'stonish  in  dat,"  said  Big  Angy.  "  Gran'dad,  he 
de  one  dat  mek  all  'fraid,  nah  but  wut  'e  git  he  come-uppunce 
awso.  He  mos'  time  git  ahaid,  but,  chut  !  de  bigges'  hog  in  de 
poke  git  ter  de  sassidge-choppeh  one  day.  Dataway  Grandad, 
he  too  much  chilluns — mo'  speshul  de  gran'darter  hat  (that) 
wuz  er  owl." 

"  Shuh  !  shuh  !  shuh  ! — dey's  alms  sumpin  ter  larn.  Dat's 
de  fust  I  hyeah  tell  dat  he  got  chilluns  dat  ain't  snakes." 

Big  Angy  sniffed  a  little  at  the  ignorance  of  her  audience, 
and  then  proceeded  to  enlighten  it  by  telling  the  story  of — 

THE  SNIPE. 

In  the  old  times  there  were  no  snipe  among  the  other  birds. 
Afterwards  they  were  plentiful,  and  one  has  only  to  listen  in 
order  to  find  out  that  it  all  came  about  through  the  agency  of 
an  owl  who  was  taught  magic  by  her  grandfather,  old  Rattle- 
snake. This  owl  was  a  very  great  witch,  greater  in  magic  than 
her  wizard  husband,  who  was  also  an  owl.  So  much  wiser  was 
she  that  she  hated  him  for  his  silliness,  and  he,  in  turn,  hated 
her  because  her  tricks  made  him  suffer.  Each  sought  an 
opportunity  to  kill  the  other.  As  one  would  expect,  she 
succeeded.  One  night  her  evil  charm  worked  and  killed  him. 
In  a  very  secret  place  between  hills  she  buried  him  under 
a  stone.  The  stone  she  fastened  down  with  a  spell,  lest  some 
one  should  let  his  ghost  out  to  worry  her.  She  need  not  have 
gone  to  this  trouble.  No  one  took  notice  of  his  death  or  cared 
that  he  was  no  more  seen.  After  awhile  she  cared,  for  she 
found  herself  very  lonely.  All  shunned  her  ;  even  her  grand- 
father, Rattlesnake,  did  not  care  for  her  society,  and  took  not 


262 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


the  same  notice  of  her  that  he  did  of  his  other  grandchildren. 
Soon,  therefore,  she  began  to  say — 

"  A  bad  husband  is  better  than  no  husband  at  all." 
So  lonely  did  she  become,  that  if  her  magic  had  been  strong 
enough  to  lift  the  stone  and  bring  her  husband  back  to  life,  she 
would  gladly  have  used  it,  but,  alas  !  it  was  not  strong  enough, 
so  she  looked  about  her  for  another  mate.  She  looked  every- 
where, but  no  one  would  have  her,  which,  indeed,  was  quite 
right  ;  if  husbands  had  come  to  her  easily,  no  doubt  she  would 

have  had  many,  and  killed  them  as 
soon  as  she  found  they  had  faults. 

When  she  had  made  many  efforts 
and  failed  in  them  all,  she  retired  to 
a  quiet  place  to  think.  This  is  what 
she  resolved  on  at  the  end  of  her 
meditation  : — 

"  I  will  watch  my  chance  and  get 
me  a  very  young  husband.  I  will 
train  him  in  my  ways,  and  we  shall 
both  be  very  well  content." 

So  she  watched  her  opportunity, 
but  for  a  long  time  caught  no 
young  husband.  All  the  parents 
were  watching  her,  that  was  the  reason  of  her  failure.  She 
perceived  this,  and  promised  Hawk  a  strong  medicine  if  he 
would  harry  the  parents  when  they  took  the  young  birds  out 
to  teach  them  how  to  fly.  She  knew  that  if  some  one  created 
confusion  at  this  time  she  could  fly  off  with  a  husband  at  once. 
Hawk  did  as  she  paid  him  to  do,  but  she  did  not  catch 
a  husband  flying.  She  saw  a  fine  young  quail  hide  under  a  leaf 
while  his  mother  looked  out  for  Hawk. 

She  took  the  little  creature  home.  He  was  very  small,  a  baby 
only.  She  pulled  his  legs  till  they  were  very  long,  longer  than 
his  father's,  longer  than  any  quail's  that  ever  was  seen.  She 


THIS   OWL   WAS    A   VERY 
GREAT   WITCH." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


263 


also  pulled  his  bill  till  it  was  very  long,  longer  than  his  father's, 
longer  than  any  quail's  that  ever  was  seen.  This  strange  deed 
she  did  so  that  if  his  mother  should  meet  him  anywhere  she 
would  not  know  him.  Poor  fellow  !  he  looked  large  enough  to 
be  the  husband  of  any  witch,  but  he  was  only  a  very  young 
quail,  as  foolish  as  any  other  baby,  but  still  he  had  sense  enough 
to  remember  his  mother,  his  poor  mother  who  grieved  for  him 
night  and  day.  To  be  sure,  she  often  saw  him,  and  if  she 


"  SHE    PULLED    HIS    BILL   TILL    IT   WAS    LONG. 

had  talked  with  him  might  have  recognised  him  by  his  voice, 
but  she  never  suspected  that  the  long-legged  bird  was  any 
relation  of  hers,  so  she  passed  him  by  in  silence.  As  for 
him,  he  was  young  and  heedless,  and  did  not  see  her  at  all. 
If  he  had  he  would  have  spoken. 

Once,  some  of  the  mother's  friends  heard  the  witch  talking 
to  the  young  husband,  and  heard  him  reply.  Immediately 
they  went  to  the  mother,  and  told  her  that  surely  the  new 


264  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

bird  with  the  long  legs  and  bill  was  her  son.  She  refused  to 
believe  it.  They  insisted  it  must  be  so,  that  he,  doubtless, 
was  enchanted — an  easy  matter  for  a  witch  to  accomplish. 

Still  incredulous,  she  started  on  a  round  of  calls  for  the 
purpose  of  asking  other  acquaintances  for  their  opinions. 

She  asked  Mole. 

Mole  said — 

"I  cannot  see,  but  undoubtedly  the  bird  has  a  voice  like 
your  son's." 

She  asked  Rattlesnake. 

He  said  a  little  of  this  and  a  little  of  that,  and,  after  all,  his 
words  meant  nothing  at  all. 

She  asked  Prairie-Dog. 

Prairie-Dog  pitied  her,  and  said — 

"  Yes,  my  cousin,  that  is  your  son.  The  witch  has  pulled 
him  into  that  shape  so  that  you  may  not  know  him.  He 
makes  her  a  pleasant  husband." 

"  Husband  of  a  witch  my  son  shall  not  be  !  " 

"  How  can  you  help  it,  cousin  ?  " 

"  That  you  must  tell  me.  You  are  shrewd  and  kind-hearted. 
For  the  sake  of  a  poor  mother  can  you  not  coax  him  into 
your  dug-out  as  he  goes  by,  and  keep  him  there  until  I 
come  ?  " 

11  No,  no,  cousin.  The  witch,  his  wife,  is  always  along  when 
he  walks  about." 

"  Then  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  not  fret,  cousin,  that  will  not  help." 

"  You  must  help.     Your  head  is  stronger  than  mine." 

"  My  advice  is,  steal  him  while  the  witch  is  asleep." 

"  When  does  a  witch  sleep  ?  " 

u  Soundest  at  sunrise.  Now  go.  Get  ready  to  steal  him  in 
the  morning." 

She  did  as  he  advised.  She  went  to  the  cave  where  the 
witch  slept,  and  stole  him  and  hid  him  in  a  slough. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  265 

When  the  witch  found  he  was  gone,  she  made  a  great  ado, 
but  could  not  come  at  him  for  the  water  of  the  slough,  so  she 
asked  Gran'daddy  Rattlesnake  to  help  her. 

He  did  not  care  for  her,  but  he  wished  no  one  to  thwart  a 
member  of  his  family,  so  he  started  to  drink  the  slough  dry. 
When  he  was  half  through,  he  found  that  the  water,  which 
was  very  dirty  and  dead,  was  making  him  sick.  He  said  a 
charm,  and  kept  on  drinking.  By  and  by  he  was  so  awfully 
sick  that  he  vomited  himself  out  of  his  skin,  and  had  to  go  off 
and  hide  till  a  new  one  grew. 

Since  that  he  has  always  hated  his  owl  relations,  and  has 
shed  his  skin  once  a  year. 

As  for  Quail,  he  stayed  in  the  slough  till  he  was  old  enough 
to  take  proper  care  of  himself ;  then  his  mother  brought  him 
out,  but  his  brothers  and  sisters  made  so  much  sport  of  his 
shape,  which  no  art  could  free  from  the  witch's  enchantment, 
that  he  went  back  to  the  slough,  and  can  seldom  be  coaxed 
out.  How  he  and  his  children  lost  the  name  of  Quail  and 
took  that  of  Snipe  no  one  knows  ;  but  no  matter  for  that,  the 
weight  of  a  name  breaks  no  one's  back. 

"  Lor !  lor !  lor !  dat  tek  de  rag  offen  de  bush,"  cried  Granny, 
admiringly.  "  I  gin  up  on  de  snake  queschin  fum  dis  out.  Ef 
I  git  axt  ef  I  know  er  snake  tale  I  gwine  ter  tell  um  no." 

"  Me  too,"  said  Aunt  Emily. 

"  Hit  knock  de  socks  offen  my  tale,"  added  Aunt  Mary. 

What  could  Big  Angy  do  but  tell  another  story  ? 

"  Yo'  all  hyeah  'bout  de  cow-suckin'  snake  ?  " 

"  Dem  ez  mek  de  cows  gib  bloody  milk  ? — Sholy.  I  ain'  des 
seen  um,  but  I  seen  de  bloody  milk,  menny's  de  time." 

"  De  milk  prube  de  suckin',"  said  Granny. 

"  Ow-ee,  hit  do.  Ef  yo'  kin  hunnerstan'  buhd-tork,  dough, 
Buntin'  gin  yo'  wa'nin'  (warning)  'bout  de  snake." 

"  Dar  now,  Miss  Boogarry,  dat  news  unter  me." 

Big  Angy  was  glad  to  hear  so  eminent  a  scholar  in  the  lore 


266  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

of  the  fields  as  Granny  acknowledge  this,  so  she  at  once  related 
all  she  knew  about — 

THE  COW-SUCKERS  AND  BUNTING. 

There  was  once  a  poor  old  woman  who  had  nothing  in  the 
world  but  the  cabin  in  which  she  lived  and  three  nice  cows, 
the  sale  of  whose  butter  and  milk  provided  her  with  such 
necessaries  as  she  had  to  buy  from  the  cross-roads  store.  Every 
day  she  drove  her  three  friends — the  only  friends  she  had, 
truly — from  the  clearing  where  the  cabin  stood,  along  the 
narrow  path  that  was  broken  through  the  underbush  so 
crowded  by  the  selfish  tall  trees.  Through  the  forest  with 
the  brush  scrambling  and  tangling  about  it,  she  drove  her 
cows  to  the  open  prairie  where  the  sweet,  rich  grass  grew 
thick  and  tall.  There,  in  the  middle  of  the  prairie,  very  near 
the  little  lake  and  its  tributary  stream,  she  left  them  until 
sundown.  Then  she  went  to  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  called 
them  home. 

Usually  they  went  gladly,  not  running  like  pigs,  to  be  sure, 
called  from  the  mast  of  the  oak-forest  to  a  supper  of  corn,  but 
going  with  a  quiet,  steady  step  that  allowed  time  to  gather  a 
sweet  mouthful  of  leaves,  now  from  this  side,  now  from  that, 
as  they  advanced  along  the  path.  When  they  reached  the 
cabin  door,  they  stood  calmly  and  cheerfully  to  be  milked  ; 
not  switching  the  flies  too  hard,  lest  they  strike  their  mistress 
or  the  little  cow-buntings  who  were  often  so  intent  on  picking 
off  flies  and  ticks  that  they  rode  quite  home  on  the  backs  of 
the  amiable  animals.  This  was  pleasant  for  all,  but,  alas  ! 
there  came  a  time  when  all  the  pleasantness  was  ended.  The 
cows  became  morose  and  unfriendly.  The  old  woman  sighed 
and  wept. 

"  Helas  !  "  said  she,  "  I  am  afraid  I  shall  freeze  to  death  this 
coming  winter.  How  can  I  knit  stockings  and  petticoats  for 
myself  if  I  have  no  yarn  ?  How  can  I  have  yarn  if  I  have  no 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  267 

milk  and  butter  to  sell  ?  Too  bad,  too  bad  !  My  food  I  could 
get  very  well  with  plenty  of  birds  and  rabbits  to  trap,  and 
plenty  of  dead  wood  to  be  picked  up  when  one  wished  to  boil 
a  pot,  but  how  can  I  manage  about  yarn  ?  Too  bad,  too  bad  ! 
just  as  butter  has  gone  up  to  five  cents  a  pound,  and  milk  to 
five  cents  a  gallon,  too.  Oh  !  I  could  soon  have  all  the  yarn 
I  should  need  for  years  if  those  cows  of  mine  were  not  in  such 
bad  plight.  Their  milk  has  been  too  bloody  to  use  these  ten 
days  past,  and  it  gets  no  better.  How  this  has  happened  I 
cannot  tell.  I  have  been  very  careful  not  to  kill  any  field 
crickets,  and  only  crickets  have  power  to  avenge  themselves  by 
sending  bloody  milk — excepting,  of  course,  the  witches.  Truly, 
a  witch  must  be  abroad,  but  who  can  it  be  ?  " 

She  never  thought  to  inquire  of  the  cows  what  was  wrong. 
This  was  a  mistake.  If  she  had  asked  them  privately,  when  they 
were  at  home,  what  had  gone  amiss,  they  would  have  told  her. 

Day  after  day  she  drove  them  to  pasture.  Night  after  night 
they  came  home  drooping  and  sad.  She  saw  this,  she  saw  also 
that  they  were  glad  to  come  home  and  unwilling  to  be  driven 
forth,  but  she  did  not  reflect  as  to  what  might  be  the  cause. 
No  wonder  she  was  always  poor.  A  woman  who  does  not  put 
this  and  that  together  until  she  knows  all  about  a  business  will 
never  thrive,  no  matter  how  hard-working  and  saving  she  may 
be. 

(If  your  eyes  are  good  for  something  besides  seeing  flies  in 
the  milk  J  and  knots  in  the  yarn,  thank  the  good  God,  and  if 
you  can  pi-ece  out  something  besides  calico,  thank  Him  twice  !) 

At  last,  the  cows'  friend,  Bunting,  could  stand  the  trouble 
in  silence  no  longer.  He  flew  back  from  the  pasture  one 
morning,  and  spoke  softly  to  the  woman,  saying  that  he  had 
it  on  his  mind  to  tell  her  a  secret  the  cows  dared  not  speak  of. 

"  To  the  point  at  once,  then,  that  is  my  way,"  said  the 
woman.  "I  never  beat  around  the  bush." 

1  "  Jc  cognoys  bicn  mouches  en  laict." — Francois  Villon. 


268  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Here  is  the  news,  then,  my  mother,"  said  he,  "  there  is  a 
family  of  snakes  down  by  the  stream  that  runs  into  the  lake, 
and  these  snakes  are  sucking  the  milk  of  the  poor  cows,  and 
filling  their  bodies  with  torment." 

The  woman  screamed  piercingly.  She  had  heard  before  of 
snakes  treating  cows  like  this,  but  she  had  put  so  little  faith 
in  the  one  who  told  her  that  the  whole  story  had  gone  out 
of  her  mind. 

"  Is  it  the  terrible  joint-snake  who  is  doing  this  thing  ?  " 
she  cried.  "  He  is  ready  for  any  evil  deed,  and  so  very  hard 
to  kill,  inasmuch  as  he  grows  together  again  as  fast  as  you 
can  cut  him  apart." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,  my  mother.  The  mischief-workers  are 
blacksnakes.  They  are  the  real  cow-suckers.  The  cows,  poor 
things  !  run  and  run  till  they  almost  run  themselves  to  death, 
trying  to  shake  off  these  villains  who  rise  up  out  of  the  grass 
and  snap  hold  of  the  teats.  Helas  !  they  cannot  shake  them 
off.  Do  you  go  rescue  them,  else  will  they  soon  go  dry  and 
for  ever  remain  so." 

When  he  had  finished  this  warning  Bunting  flew  away. 

The  woman  took  in  her  hand  a  spade  with  a  long  handle, 
and,  saying  a  charm  as  she  went,  set  forth  to  seek  the 
cows. 

She  soon  found  them,  and  it  was  a  bad  sight  to  see  the 
poor  things,  each  with  four  snakes  clinging  to  her.  The  first 
she  reached  was  red  cow,  and  the  woman  struck  the  four  from 
her  with  the  spade  and  said  the  charm,  and  they  lay  wriggling 
on  the  ground  unable  to  rise  and  choke  her  in  their  folds,  as 
is  the  way  of  blacksnakes.  The  charm  said  over  and  over 
made  them  helpless  ;  no  wonder  they  were  easily  killed. 

Then  the  woman  went  on  a  little  way,  with  the  red  cow 
following  and  looking  less  sad. 

She  came  up  to  white  cow.  She  struck  the  snakes  and  said 
the  charm.  The  snakes  fell  wriggling  to  the  ground,  and  she 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  269 

killed  them  and  went  on  with  the  red  cow  and  the  white  cow 
following. 

Soon  she  came  up  to  black  cow.  She  struck  the  snakes  and 
said  the  charm.  The  snakes  fell  wriggling  to  the  ground,  and 
she  killed  them,  and  went  home  with  the  red  cow  and  the 
white  cow  and  the  black  cow  following. 

Next  day  the  woman  took  them  to  a  new  pasture,  a  long 
way  from  that  unlucky  place  where  they  had  been  ;  she  took 
them  to  a  fine  place  where  rushes,  calamus,  and  sweet-pea 
grew  as  thickly  as  the  grass,  and  that  was  the  end  of  the 
trouble,  for  she  taught  the  cows  the  charm  that  conquers 
snakes,  as  they  went  along  together.  It  was  that  old  charm  : 
"  The  seed  of  the  woman  shall  bruise  the  serpent's  head,"  that 
she  taught  them. 

She  should  have  done  this  long  before,  but  then  she  was  not 
very  smart. 

After  the  cows  had  learned  the  charm  by  heart,  she  asked 
them — 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  what  was  troubling  you  ?  Is 
not  your  trouble  my  trouble  always  ?  n 

The  cows  said — 

"  True  enough,  all  that,  but  some  things  we  are  not  per- 
mitted to  tell  you  hoofless  creatures  unless  you  ask." 

Aunt  Em'ly  roused  from  a  reverie.  Evidently  she  had  not 
heard  the  woes  of  the  cows. 

"  De  way  I  hyeah  dat  tale  o*  Owl  wuz  diffunt,"  she  said. 
"  De  way  I  hyeah  hit,  Owl,  she  do  hab  heap  o'  young  hubsums 
(husbands)  an',  w'en  she  git  outdone  wid  um,  she  kilt  urn  in  dey 
sleep  an'  tuck  out  dey  hahts  and  sucked  up  de  strenk  ob  um. 
Dat  kip  up  too,  twell  she  kill  Rain  Crow  w'ich  wuz  de  kinfolks 
o'  de  big  T'undeh-Buhd  dat  lib  in  de  mountins  'way  out  yondeh 
at  de  eend  o'  de  perarer.  De  wilier  tree  see  Rain  Crow  kilt,  an' 
seen  'im  flung  in  the  crik  mungs  de  big  flags  too,  arter  he  haht 
wuz  out.  De  flags  wuz  w'ite,  but  dat  cole  kyarkiss  mek  um 


270  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

so  cole  dey  tuhn  blue  an'  dey  tell  hit  ter  de  wilier  tree  dat  see 
de  trouble.  De  wilier  tree  tell  de  maple  dat  hit  sholy  wuz  er 
buhnin'  shame  dat  de  flag  git  sarve  dataway,  an'  de  maple  tell 
de  cotton-wood,  an'  de  cotton-wood  tell  de  plum  tree,  an'  de 
plum  tree  tell  de  warnit,  an'  de  warnit  tell  de  hick'ry.  De 
hick'ry  ain't  'feard  o'  nuttin,  an'  'buse  dat  witch  out  an'  out, 
an'  holler  'crost  de  woods  ter  de  ellums  ter  tell  de  oaks  ter  tell 
de  pines  ter  tell  de  whole  meanness  ter  Ole  T'undeh-Buhd 
hisse'f.  Dataway  de  trees  all  tek  up  foh  Rain  Crow.  My  ! 
T'undeh-Buhd  (Thunder-Bird — Eagle)  wuz  mad  an'  up  an' 
a-gittin',  but  he  ain't  git  up  fas'  nuff.  Er  lil  traipsin',  wuthless 
puff-ball,  a-rollin'  hyeah  an  dar,  hyeah  all  de  ruckshin  an'  tole 
Miss  Owl  an'  she  des  putt  foh  huh  gran'daddy,  Ole  Rattle- 
snake. 

"Ole  Rattlesnake,  he  tuck  an'  hid  'er  in  he  den,  an'  Ole 
T'undeh-Buhd  an'  he  chilluns,  dey  hunt  an'  dey  hunt,  'fo'  dey 
fine  'er.  At  de  las'  dey  mek  out  whah  she  a-scrouchin',  an'  dey 
say— 

"  'Bust  open,  den  ! '  an'  de  den  bust  open,  but,  lo  an'  beholes ! 
dey  ain't  ketch  'er  yit.  She  seen  urn  a-comin'  an'  flewed  down 
Ole  Grandaddy  Rattlesnake's  thote. 

"  Dat  dis'pint  de  T'undeh-Buhds  mighty  bad  an'  e-er  sence 
dey  'spise  de  snakes.  Dey  hatter  go  home  bedout  killin'  Owl, 
mo'  am  de  scannel  (scandal),  but  nemmine !  Rattlesnake  git  he 
pay.  Owl,  she  flusteh  ,roun'  twell  Rattlesnake,  he  git  dat  sick 
dat  he  fling  'er  up  an'  fling  he  own  hide  off  inter  de  bahgin 
(bargain),  an'  he  dat  mad  he  go  hide,  an'  good  nuff  foh  de 
vilyun  !  he  kep  dat  up  wunst  er  yeah  e-er  sence." 

Aunt  Mymee  jumped  up  with  a  yawn  that  threatened  to 
rend  her  countenance  in  twain. 

"  I  'low  I  hyeah  snake  tale  nuff  ter  las'  me  de  res'  or  my 
bawnded  days,"  she  said.  "I  reck'n  T  betteh  git  'long  up  ter 
de  House." 

Nobody  interposing  any  objections,  she  went.     As  she  dis- 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  271 

appeared,   the    other    aunties  heard   her    singing,    or   rather 
growling,  this  uncanny  song — 

"  De  Debbil,  he  spit  an'  he  spit  out  snakes. 

Snakes,  snakes. 
De  wood-choppeh  chop  an'  he  chop  out  snakes. 

Snakes,  snakes. 
He  hitch  up  de  cattle  an'  he  snake  out  logs. 

Snakes,  snakes. 
De  wood-choppeh  drink  an'  he  drink  up  snakes. 

Snakes,  snakes. 
De  Debbil  git  he  kyarkiss,  de  Debbil  git  he  soul. 

Snakes,  snakes." 


XVIII. 

«  JACKY-ME-LANTUHNS"  SOMETIMES  CALLED  "  WUL- 
LER-WUPS"—ALSO  " PAINTERS »  AND  THEIR 
VICTIMS. 

BIG  ANGY  and  Aunt  Em'ly  arrived  at  the  cabin  door  together. 
Both  were  agitated  and  both  were  anxious  to  conceal  the  fact. 
They  laughed  a  great  deal  and  talked  so  rapidly  that  Granny 
told  them  candidly  that  they  were  "  kyarin'  on  lak  er  half-sled 


THE  JACKY-ME 


in  er  snow-stawm."  This  uncomplimentary  remark  moved 
them  to  explain  that  they  "  plum  fegittit  dat  twuz  too  cole  ter 
onbine  dem  wuller-wups,  air,  in  consequence,  each  had  mistaken 
the  other's  lantern  for  that  dreaded  emissary  of  the  Devil's 
wife.  They  had  flung  themselves  down  on  the  snow  and 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO.  273 

stopped  their  ears  and  waited  thus  until  they  were  almost  frozen. 
Finally,  they  had  courage  to  look  up,  then,  as  they  saw  that 
the  lanterns  had  gone  out,  they  spoke.  In  another  instant 
they  were  on  their  feet,  the  lanterns  were  relighted,  and  they 
finished  the  walk  across  the  fields  together. 

"  Ise  er  big  fool  not  ter  t'ink  'bout  de  crittehs  bein*  hilt  fas' 
by  de  cole,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  with  another  foolish  laugh,  "but, 
Gord  know,  I  des  ez  liefs  meet  up  wid  er  painter  (panther)  ez  er 
jacky-me-lantuhn  (jack-o'-lantern),  dat's  de  natchel  troof." 

"  Hit  come  ter  de  same  t'ing,  honey,"  said  Granny,  with  her 
most  oracular  air.  "  Ef  yo'  meet  de  painter  yo'  git  et  up  ;  ef 
yo'  meet  de  jacky-me-lantuhn — an'  hit's  de  se'f-same  beastis  ez 
de  wuller-wups — yo'  git  drownded.  De  onles  way  in  de  bofe 
case  am  ter  fling  yo'se'f  down  flat  an'  shet  yo'  eyse  an'  hole  yo' 
bref  an'  let  on  lak  yo'  daid  a'ready.  Mo'n  dat,  yo'  boun'  ter 
stop  up  yo'  yeahs  too,  kase  ef  yo'  hyeah  sumpin  yo'  gwine 
ter  git  up  an'  foller  fust  t'ing  yo'  knows." 

"  I  ruther  o'  some  git  drownded  nur  et  up,"  said  Aunt  Mary, 
with  emphasis. 

"Hit  dishaways,"  said  Granny,  with  a  serious  and  judicial 
air,  as  she  presented  the  "points"  of  painter  and  jacky-me- 
lantuhn,  "  de  painters,  dey's  debbils.  Dey  git  yo',  dey  eat  yo' 
meat  an'  dey  gnyaw  yo'  bone  an'  dey  chahm  yo'  spurrit  so  hit 
boun'  ter  follow  'urn  an'  sarve  um.x  De  jacky-me-lantuhns,  dey 
ain't  des  zackry  debbils,  dey's  gostes  an'  dey  in  de  clutch  o'  de 
Debbil's  ole  ooman.  Dey  drownds  yo'  sholy,  but  yo'  spurrit, 
hit  go  free  ter  de  place  hit  'long  unter.  Sidesen  dat,  drowndin' 
am  sorter  easy-goin',  wiles  gittin'  tored  inter  smidgins  an' 
den  all  mess  up  in  de  pluck  ob  er  low-down  debbil-varmint 
am  sorter  hahd,  e'en  medout  ter  hafter  sarve  dat  critteh, 
too." 

11  Dat  wut  /  say.  Gimme  drowndin'  in  de  bog,  but  don't 
gimme  up  foh  sassidge-meat  unter  er  painter  !  " 

1  There  is  the  same  belief  in  India  as  regards  the  tiger. — C.  G.  L. 


274  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Dey's  er  charnce,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  with  cold  and  cruel 
emphasis,  "  dat  yo'  git  ter  be  er  jacky-me-lantuhn  yo'  own  s'ef." 

"  Not  ef  I  'have  myse'f,"  cried  the  usually  amiable  Aunt  Mary, 
stung  into  sudden  fury.  "  Not  ef  I  'have  (behave)  myse'f  !  an' 
ef  I  tek  ter  doin'  dirt,1  den  Ise  willin'  ter  be  jacky-me-lantuhn 
—an'  sarve  me  right,  too  !  " 

"  Troof  too,"  said  Granny,  pretending  to  think  Aunt  Mymee 
was  bent  only  on  enlightening  her  friend  ;  "ef  yo'  ain't  do  no 
dirt,  ur  ef  yo*  sorry  yo'  did,  'fo'  yo'  git  drownded.  Yo'  safe  fum 
dat.  Dem  dat  stick  ter  dey  own  podner  (partner,  husband)  am 
gwine  ter  go  off  'bout  dey  own  bizniz  wen  dey  daid  in  de  bog 
ur  outen  hit,  but  dem  dat's  bin  a-traipsin'  arter  yuther  folkses 
podnehs  dey  ketch  hit,  good,  ef  dey  git  coax  in  an'  drownded, 
yessir !  Wen  dey  daid,  de  Debbil's  ole  ooman  gwine. ter  ketch 
up  dey  spurrits  an  tie  um  up  in  big  blathers  (bladders)  an'  light 
um  up  an'  tuhn  um  loose  in  de  bogs  an'  sloughs  so  dey  fool  turr 
po'  sinnehs  an'  'tice  um  inter  de  bogs  an'  sloughs  fum  a-t'inkin' 
dey  see  er  man  ur  er  ooman  wid  er  lahntun.  Dat  de  jacky-me- 
lantuhn  bizniz,  ter  fool  de  folkses  on  an'  on,  but  yo'  kyarn' 
tuhn  jacky-me-lantuhn  o/zless  yo'  bin  a-doin'  data  way  I  name. 
Yo'  kin  slip  down  in  de  mud  and  slosh  (ooze)  an'  die  dar,  but 
yo'  ain't  boun'  ter  be  er  jacky-me-lantuhn.  No  suh  !  " 

"Dey's  man-jacky  an'  ooman-jacky,"  said  Big  Angy. 

"  In  co'se,"  said  Granny.  "  Dat's  de  way  dey  tolls  folks  on. 
£f  er  man  gwine  'long  in  de  night  lose  de  road,  den  he  see 
afront  'im  wut  'e  des  sho  an'  sartin  am  er  ooman  wid  er  lantuhn. 
He  see  de  lantuhn  plain  an'  he  sho  he  see  de  ooman,  dough  he 
kyarn't  see  er  good,  an'  he  foller  an'  he  foller  an'  he  kyarn't 
he'p  hit,  an*  he  t'ink  he  hyeah  'er  say  sumpin,  dough  he  ain't 
kin  tell  des  wut,  an'  he  foller  on  thu  de  mud  an'  down  in  de 
slosh  an'  he  kyarkiss,  hit  ain't  gwine  ter  get  out  o'  dar  twell  de 
Jedgmint  Day.  Ef  er  ooman  lose  de  road,  den  she  'magine  she 
see  er  man,  an'  she  des  'stractid  ter  ketch  up  an'  she  foller  an' 
folter  twell  down  she  go." 

'  To  do  dirt,  to  act  immorally. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


275 


"  De  onles  way,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  so  interested  in  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  "jackys"  that  she  forgot  to  be  insulting  to  the 
aunties  of  greater  fascinations  for  the  opposite  sex,  "  am  des  ter 
fling  yo'se'f  down  an  shet  yo'  eyes  an'  hole  yo'  bref  an'  plug  up 
yo'  yeahs." 

"  Des  wut  I  say  unter  Mary,"  said  Granny,  with  rather 
austere  politeness. 

"  Me  git  fool  dataway  wunst,"  said  Big  Angy,  grinning  and 
blushing  till  the  red  blood  showed  in  the  bronze  of  her  cheek. 


"HE  SEE   DE   LANTUHN   PLAIN. 

"  How  way  ?  "  "  Dis  night  ?  "  asked  her  auditors  with 
gratifying  interest. 

"Nuh,  no  dis  night.  Hit  bin  dishaway  : — me  gwine  'long  de 
road,  rapid  men  t)  kase  'twuz  late  an'  de  slough  wuz  dis  side,  an' 
de  Injun  grabeyahd  wuz  dat  side.  I  lose  no  time,  nuh,  a-stoppin'. 
I  wuz  half-way  'long  pass  de  slough,  w'en  in  de  front  me  eye, 
dar  in  de  road,  a-bouncin'  un'  a-jouncin',  er  jacky-me-lantuhn  ! 


276  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

Me  fling  me  down,  me  holt  me  bref,  me  squinch,  me  shet  de 
eye,  me  putt  me  de  finner  (finger)  in  de  yeah. 

"  Bimeby,  sumpin  me  hit.  Hit  lak  hoss-shoe.  Me  tr-r-rimmle, 
tr-r-rimmle.  Say  nuttin.  Stir  not.  De  finnirs  wuz  in  de 
yeahs,  but  some  t'ing  I  hyeah,  de  t'ing  dat  soun'  lak  horse 
snort  an'  r'ar  an'  shy,  de  t'ing  dat  soun'  lak  w'ite  man  cussin*. 
Den  me  hyeah  de  soun'  lak  sumpin  joomp  unter  de  groun',  an' 
me  veele  (feel)  sumpin  ketch  me  a-holt  pun  de  shouldeh,  put  de 
han'  pun  me  chis'.  Me  hyeah  sumpin  tork — 

"  *  Is  yo'  daid  ?  Nuh,  yo'  issent  daid,  yo'  dhroonk.  Git  hup  ! ' 

"  Dat  wuz  kase  me  mus'  breeve  or  bust,  an'  me  breeve.  Den 
me  peep  out  de  eye,  me  see  man  wid  lantuhn,  zo  one  me  eye  me 
pinch  shet,  one  me  flop  op'n. 

"  De  man  bin  de  man  dat  lib  in  de  medder  Ian'  ahine  dem 
ash  trees.  He  hole  up  de  lantuhn,  he  look,  he  say — 

il  '  Damme  !  damme  !  damme  ! — Ole  ooman,  w'y  yo'  dar  ? 
Am  yo'  dat  droonk  yo'  kyarn'  git  hup  ? — Yo'  skeer  de  hoss,  he 
t'row  me.  Spik,  ef  yo'  ain'  too  droonk.' 

"  Me  spik,  me  say — 

" '  U-uh  !  Misseh  Smif,  dat  yo'  ? ' 

"  *  Hit  me,'  he  say.  *  Wut  yo'  a-sprawlin'  in  de  dut  foh  ? ' 
he  say.  '  'Fo'  dis,  me  t'ink  yo'  decen'  ole  ooman.' 

u '  Misseh  Smif,  me  no  droonk.  Me  skeer.  Me — ah — t'ink 
yo'  er  jacky-me-lantuhn.' 

" l  Wut  o'  dat  ? — Git  hup. — Jacky-me-lantuhn  nuttin  cep 
rotten  win'.' 

"  Me  me  try  scuse  (I  tried  to  excuse  myself).  No  good  'tall. 
He  lafF,  he  holler,  he  smack  de  laig.  Den,  sez  'e — 

"  *  Ef  so  be  me  na  (if  I  were  not)  sick  a-laffin',  me  whup  yo' 
foh  mek  de  hoss  shy.  Hit  spile  good  hoss,  wunst  'e  lahn  dat 
trick.' 

"  Nemmine.  I  go  dishaway.  He  go  dataway,  but  nex'  day 
he  tell  dat  in  de  sto',  an'  w'en  I  go  sell  de  mitten,  all  laff." 

"  Pester  yo'  heap  ?  » 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  277 

"  Nuh.  Dey  buy  de  mitten  an'  gimme  de  HI  sip  o'  eau-de- 
vie.  Dat  good.  Me  git  de  rponnie  an'  de  eau-de-vie^  dey  git 
de  laff  an'  de  mitten." 

"  Dat  er  far  trade,  Miss  Boogarry." 

u  Hit  er  far  trade,  but  'tain't  no  reely  wuller-wups  ahine  dat 
trade,"  said  Aunt  Mymee,  with  a  languidly-bored  air  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  drawing-room.  "  Bar's  ertale  /kin  tell, 
dat  my  mammy  knowed,  dat  don'  tuhn  out  no  sech  er  w'icher- 
ways." 

"  Ef  hit  'greeble  unter  yo',  gin  hit  out  an  le'ssee." 

"  Hit  wuz  des  lak  dis  : — Ole  man,  he  got  er  lil  gal.  He  ole 
ooman  daid  an'  all  he  yuther  folks  daid  cep  dat  lil  gal,  an'  she 
all  in  de  worls  dat  he  got.  He  lub  dat  lil  gal  des  lak  de 
'possum  lub  de  'simmon-tree.  De  man  at  de  nex'  place  jindin 
(adjacent)  des  got  one  boy.  Dem  two  daddy  mek  hit  up  dat  de 
boy  gwine  ter  merry  de  gal  w'en  she  ole  nuff.  Meanw'iles,  dat 
boy,  he  heap  oler  den  de  gal,  he  run  arter  a  ooman  in  de  holler. 
Er  man  dat  lub  dat  ooman  fine  out  dat  ooman  done  tuck  up  wid 
de  boy.  He  kill  um  bofe  an'  fling  um  in  de  quogmiah  (quag- 
mire). Huccome  he  kill  de  two  an'  dey  don'  kill  'im,  huh  ? 
He  kill  de  ooman  fust  an'  fling  huh  in  de  slosh.  Den  he  tek 
'er  shorl  (shawl)  an'  wrop  hisse'f  up  in  hit.  W'en  de  boy  come 
'long  de  parf  an'  see  in  de  dim  light  ob  be  night  dat  shorl, 
he  putt  out  de  han',  but,  my  gorrymighty  !  hit  er  man  dat 
grip  dat  han',  hit  er  man  dat  ketch  he  thote  an'  choke  de 
life  harf  outen  'im  an'  den  fling  'im  'way  out  in  de  mud,  an' 
holler  an'  laff  w'en  de  boy  baig  an'  plead  dat  he  reach  'im  er 
pole  ter  git  out  by.  Hit — oh,  good  Lawd  ! — hit  er  man  dat 
holler  an'  laff  w'en  de  boy  go  down  in  de  brack  mud  an'  watteh. 
Wuss'n  dat,  hit  er  man,  dat  man,  dat  mek  de  folkses  t'ink  dat 
boy  an'  ooman  done  runned  off. 

"  Bimeby,  dat  man  set  up  ter  dat  gal.  She  mad  'bout  dat 
boy  dat  she  t'ink  runned  off,  an'  she  merry  dat  man  kase  she 
feel  spiteful.  Den  she  wish  she  ain't.  She  fine  she  cut  off  'er 


278  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

nose  ter  spite  'er  face,  dat  all.  All  de  night  long  de  jacky-me- 
lantuhns  rise  outen  de  groun'  anj  jounce,  jounce  roun'  de  house. 
Roun'  an'  roun'  dey  go,  fust  dis  side,  den  dat  side,  roun'  an' 
roun'  tell  'long  todes  day,  den  dey  go  sorter  '  squitch  !  '  an'  den 
dey  gone.  Dey  ain't  go  off,  dey  des  nowurs.  Nex'  night  dey 
back,  dough,  wuss  an'  wuss.  Den,  w'en  de  mawnin  come  an' 
dey  gone  ergin,  de  gal  run  home. 

"  (  O,  daddy  ! '  she  say,  '  lemme  in  !  lemme  in  !  De  jacky- 
me-lantuhns  so  bad  at  my  ole  man's  I  dassent  ter  stay.  Hit 
'pear  lak  dey  a-huntin'  sumpin,  kase  dey  bob  roun'  dar  de  whole 
night  thu.' 

"  So  'er  daddy  tek  'er  in,  an'  he  cuss  an'  he  cry,  an'  den  he 
watch  w'les  she  go  sleep  on  de  flo'. 

u  Arter  w'iles  'long  come  de  man.  Whoo  !  de  ruckshin,  de 
fuss  !  He  pitch  an'  he  r'ar,  he  scole  an'  he  cuss,  he  coax  an' 
he  lallygagg,  he  cry  an'  he  promuss  de  big  gif.  He  gib  de  HI 
gal  no  peace,  so,  at  de  las',  she  say — 

"  *  Ise  all  wo'  out  wid  yo'  baiggin*.  I'll  go  try  de  place  wunst 
mo'.' 

u  She  go  back  ter  try  one  mo'  night. 

"  De  nex'  mawnin',  beholes  !  dat  lil  gal  comes  des  a-puttin' 
ter  huh  daddy. 

"  *  O,  daddy,  lemme  in  !  Lemme  in  !  *  sez  she.  ( Ise  mo' 
feard  o'  dejacky-me-lantuhns  now  den  yistiddy.  All  de  night  I 
see  dem  jacky-me-lantuhns  an'  dey's  er  man  an'  er  ooman 
jacky-me-lantuhns  an'  dey  laigs  is  gone.  I  kyarn't  stan'  dat, 
daddy.  Lemme  in  !  lemme  in  ! ' 

"  'Er  daddy  tek  'er  in,  an'  he  cuss  an'  he  cry,  an'  den  he  watch 
w'iles  she  fall  down  sleep  on  de  flo'. 

"  De  man,  he  done  set  out  yarly  in  de  mawnin'  he  own  se'f 
an'  he  ain't  git  back  home  twell  mos'  dahk.  Den  he  miss  de 
lil  gal.  He  look  one  place,  look  turr  place,  look  ev'whurs. 
No  lil  gal.  Wait  er  minnit,  den  holler.  No  un  arnser  back. 
Den  he  go  a-runnin'  arter  huh.  He  fine  'er  wid  'er  daddy. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  279 

Her  r'ar  an'  pitch,  cuss  an'  t'ar,  coax  an'  lallygag,  cry  an* 
promuss.  Shuh  !  lil  gal,  she  thu  wid  'im,  all  he  good  bref  dat 
otter  gone  ter  cool  he  vittles  gone  foh  nuttin. 

*' '  Go  'way,'  de  gal  say,  *  go  'way  an'  lemme  'lone.' 

"  (  Come  back.     Yo'  my  ooman  now.' 

"'Nuh.     Won't  go 'tall.' 

"  'I  kill  yo',  gal.     Lookout!* 
'  I  gwine  ter  die  hyeah,  ef  so  be  my  time  come.' 

"  Den  de  man  staht  off,  an'  he  call  back — 

"  ( I  staht  out  so  quick  dat  I  fegit  de  gun.  Wait !  I  gwine 
git  dat  gun.  Den  see  me  swage  (persude)  yo'  an'  yo'  daddy  !  ' 

"  Wid  dat  he  lope  back  ;  he  git  de  gun,  he  staht  ter  go  back 
an'  swage  de  lil  gal  an'  huh  daddy. 

"  Bimeby,  he  see  de  jacky-me-lantuhn,  bibbery-bob,  bibbery- 
bob  hyeah  she  go.  Now  she  front,  now  she  'hine,  now  she 
closte,  now  she  fur.  'Way  off  yonder,  nurr  one  bob,  bibbery- 
bob,  bibbery-bob,  but  dat  un  don't  come  anigh.  My  !  de  sight 
tuhn  'im  cole.  He  des  hone  ter  tuhn  back." 

"  But  he  kyarn't,"  said  Granny. 

"  Nuh.  He  kyarn't  .  He  footses,  they  sholy  'witched.  He 
grab  um  wid  he  hans,  he  try  ter  hole  urn  fas',  but  dey  go, 
des  lak  dey  wuzzent  hissen,  cross  ways  ob  de  road  an'  thu  de 
wet  grass.  On  go  de  jacky-me-lantuhn  todes  whah  de  turr  one 
a-balluncin',  bob,  bob,  bibbery-bob  ;  'cross  de  wet  grass  inter 
de  shaller  watteh  mungs  de  roots,  bob,  bob,  bibbery-bob  ; 
'cross  de  shaller  watteh  mungs  de  roots  inter  de  t'ick  mud,  bob, 
bob,  bibbery-bob.  He  foller.  He  up  ter  he  shins  now.  Bob, 
bob,  bibbery-bob.  De  mud  gittin'  t'in  now,  hit  rope  w'en 
de  win'  blow.  He  up  ter  he  knees.  Bob,  bob,  bibbery-bob. 
He  mek  er  splunge.  He  up  ter  de  wais'  now.  Bob,  bob, 
bibbery-bob.  One  mo'  pull.  He  up  ter  de  neck.  Bob,  bob, 
bibbery-bob.  Dem  two  jacky-me-lantuhns  bofe  closte  unter 
'im,  one  dis  side,  one  dat.  Bob,  bob,  bibbery-bob.  Dey  come 
ter  gerrer.  Dey  sottle  onter  'im.  He  shet  de  eye.  He  gone. 


280  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

'  Guggle,  guggle — PLOM  !  '  say  de  watteh.  Bob,  bob,  bibbery- 
bob — 'way  go  de  jacky-me-lantuhns.  Go  asleep,  lil  gal,  no 
man  gwine  ter  kill  yo'  now  !  " 

"  Who  saw  that  and  told  it  ?  "  asked  Tow  Head,  sceptically. 

"  Who  see  yo'  ha'r  grow  ?  "  was  the  retort-discourteous. 

"  Nobody.     How  could  one  ?  " 

"  Hit  grow  dough,  des  de  same,  an'  same  way  de  tale  o*  de 
jacky-me-lantuhn.  Hit  come,  hit  de  sollum  fact,  an'  no  un  kin 
tell  nohow." 

"  Sholy,  sholy,  ez  de  chile  kin  hunnerstan',  an*  dat  'mine  me 
ob  er  tale  ob  one  o'  dem  jacky-me-lantuhns  dat  don't  come 
outen  de  ma'sh,  dey  come  outen  de  grabeyahd,  an',  stiddier 
drowndin'  folks,  dey  git  um  stonded  (stunned),  an'  den  suck  out 
dey  blood  an'  lef  um  ez  dry  ez  er  cawn-shuck  arter  Crismus." 

"  Shuh,  now  !  yo'  des  sorter  projeckin',"  cried  Aunt  Mary, 
uneasily. 

"  No,  suh  !  hit  de  troof,  dat  kine  o*  wuller-wups,  dey  de 
wusses'  ob  all  de  jacky-me-lantuhns,  kase  dey  grows  fum 
suckin'  all  de  life  outen  crittehs  twell  dey's  tall  ez  de  bigges' 
cottonwood  trees.  Mo'n  dat,  dem  dat's  sucked  ter  def  gits  up 
and  stahts  out  in  de  same  bizniz  an'  dey  grows  an'  dey  grows, 
but  de  wust  ob  all  de  mizzibleness  am  dat  de  life  ob  urn's  all  on 
de  outside  an'  dey  hahts  am  cole  ez  def.  Yessuh  !  cole  ez  def !  " 

Everybody  shuddered  visibly  and  with  no  effort  at  conceal- 
ment as  the  picture  rose  before  her  mental  vision  of  this  terrible 
icy-hearted  "  wuller-wup,"  shooting  up  from  the  grave  like  a 
mighty  column  of  flame,  and  sweeping  through  the  night  in 
eager  search  for  the  warm  life  of  humanity. 

"  But  dey's  er  way  ter  gin  dis  hyeah  jacky-me-lantuhn  he 
come-uppunce,"  said  Granny,  with  evident  pity  for  the  agita- 
tion of  her  audience. 

She  paused  to  give  her  consolation  time  to  "  work,"  then 
continued. 

"  Hit's  dishaway,"  and  she  drove  the  poker  into  the   heart  of 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  281 

the  great  fire  before  her  until  the  sparks  flew  up  the  chimney 
in  a  column  tall  as  any  wuller-wup,  "des,  dishaway  :  Ef  yo'  see 
un  un  um  a-comin'  an'  yo'  squot  right  down  an'  mek  er  cross 
in  de  dut  an'  spit  in  de  middle  o'  dat  cross,  an'  den  jump  up 
high  ez  yo'  kin,  and  poke  yo'  han'  thu  de  light  an'  down  de 
thote  o'  Misteh  Jacky-me-lantuhn  an'  grab  out  he  haht,  an'  tek 
dat  haht  an'  peg  hit  ter  de  groun'  wid  splintehs  ob  de  ash  tree, 
an'  den  pile  up  de  leabes  an'  rubbidge  an'  set  hit  afiah  an'  buhn 
dat  haht  up.  Hit'll  buhn  mighty  slow,  an'  tek  er  heap  o' 
kin'lin',  dat  haht  will,  but  wunst  hit  buhn,  dat  jacky-me-lan- 
tuhn  done  wid,  hit  boun'  ter  des  pindle  down  ter  nuttin  an' 
ne'er  git  up  no  mo'.  Ef  dat  haht  bust  loose,  an'  git  erway 
dough — an'  hit  try  mighty  hahd — hit  gwine  ter  fly  back  back  ter 
whah  'twuz  afo',  an'  den  de  jacky  sholy  be  heap  wuss'n  'twuz  in 
de  fust  place,  an'  yo'  sholy  will  git  sucked  de  fus'  night  hit  git 
er  charnce  at  yo'."  x 

11  Troof  too,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly  ;  "  but  ef  yo'  scuse  me,  Aunt 
Jinny,  I  tell  yo'  dat  dese  hyeah  jacky-me-lantuhns  dat  riz  outen 
de  grabe  ain't  alms  lak  de  yaller  light.  In  de  daytime,  an' 
some  in  de  nights  too,  dey  des  lak  grea'  big  ole  doted  (dry- 
rotted)  trees." 

"Is  yo'  e'er  seed  um,  Aunt  Em'ly  ?  " 

"  Nuh,  I  ain't  des  seed  um  my  own  se'f,  but  my  mammy,  she 
seed  um  menny  an'  menny  er  time,  dat  she  hez." 

"  Wut  she  say  dey  look  lak,  honey  ?  Wut  kine  o'  trees,  des 
zackry  ?  " 

"  Des  zackry  lak  no  kine  dat  grow.  Dey  stan'  up  high  lak 
daid  ole  tree,  dey  got  on  no  close,  kase  wy,  dem  dey  wuz  bury 
in  am  too  lil  foh  um  now  sence  dey  grow  by  de  blood.  Dey  all 
kivveh  wid  ha'r  dat  look  lak  tree-moss,  dey  yarms  (arms)  fell 
down  lak  daid  lim's,  dey  haid  no  mo'n  er  big  knot-hole  twell  yo' 
look  mighty  closte  ter  hit,  den — oh,  my  ! — hit  awful !  De  eyes, 

1  This  is  the  terrible  cannibal  giantess  of  the  Algonkin  Indians,  who  cannot 
be  destroyed  until  her  heart  is  completely  burned  up. — C.  G.  L. 


282  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

dey  so  daid  an'  sickly  dat  yo'  kyarn'  skusely  see  urn,  de  nose  is 
all  fall  down,  but  de  toofses,  dey  ain't  all  fall  down  !  No,  suhs  ! 
dem  toofses  des  ez  big  ez  de  saw-toofses  in  de  saw-mill.  Oh, 
dey  de  awfules'  paht !  Dey  ain't  no  back-toofses,  but  dem  front 
ones  so  strong  dey  kin  bite  thu  folkses  necks  an'  let  all  de 
blood  an'  de  strenk  out." 

"  Dem's  booggers,  dey  ain't  no  wuller-wups,"  said  Aunt 
Mymee. 

"  Sholo  dey  am  wuller-wups,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  firmly, 
"  kase  w'y  ? — dey  come  up  outen  de  groun',  an'  dey  kin  go  roun' 
in  de  big  blathers  o'  fiah  ef  dey  wanter." 

Aunt  Mary  forgot  to  giggle,  and  turned  quite  ashy. 

"  W-w-w-'y,  Aunt  Em'ly,"  she  sputtered,  "  ef  dey  wuz  lak 
yo'  an'  Aunt  Jinny  say,  putty  soon  de  whole  worl'  u'd  git  bit 
an'  tuhn  inter  booggers,  an'  der  won't  be  nuttin  lef." 

"  Dat  mought  happun,  chile,  ef  so  be  'twuzzent  dat  w'en  dey 
gits  bad  in  er  neighbeh-hood,  de  folks,  dey  all  tuhn  out  wid 
fiah-bran's  an'  hunt  um  down.  De  folkses  safe  w'iles  dey 
a-lookin'  at  dey  own  fiah-bran's,  an',  fust  t'ing  dey  know,  dey 
hyeah — (  squitch  !  '  an'  dey  know  one  bus',  an'  dey  git  he  haht 
an'  buhn  hit  des  lak  Aunt  Jinny  say.  Oh,  yes  !  dem  kine 
'feared  o'  fiah  des  lak  some  gostes." 

"  Some  gostes  choke  yo'  ef  dey  ketch  yo'  'way  fum  de  fiah, 
but  fiah  melt  dey  strenk,  an'  so  'tis  wid  dem  kine  wullerwups." 

"  Wut  happun  ef  yo'  see  dem  kine  o'  wuller-wups  w'en  yo' 
otter  (ought  to)  look  at  yo'  fiah-bran'  ?  " 

"  Yo'  boun'  ter  run  unter  um  an'  git  yo'  neck  broke  an'  yo' 
strenk  tuck." 

"  My  !  " 

"  {  My,'  sho  miff.     Dem's  mo'  lak  paintehs  nur  wuller-wups." 

"  Dey  holler  sumpin  lak  paintehs  too.  Dat  am,  dey  holler 
so  hit  soun'  des  lak  er  young  one  dat's  mos'  cry  hitse'f  ter 
sleep.  Ise  hyurn  um,  an'  de  w'ite  folks  say  hit  de  sobbin'  o'  de 
win',  but  'tain't  'tall,  hit  diffunt." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  283 

"  Dat  same  ez  de  painteh." 

"  Sumpin,  sumpin,  an'  de  painters  suck  de  blood  an'  hole 
(hold)  de  spurrit  too." 

"  Dey's  cunjerers,  dey  is,  an'  dey  kin  go  roun'  lak  folkses,  ur 
lak  beasteses,  des  ez  de  noshin  tek  urn." 

"  Shuh,  now  !  Aunt  Jinny." 

"  Yessuh  !  an'  I  kin  prube  hit." 

"  Prube  hit  wid  er  good  tale  den." 

"  Mebbe  so  good,  mebbe  so  bad.  Hit  de  troof  dough,  an' 
hyeah  'tis  : — 

"  Wunst  on  er  time  dey  wuz  er  ole  ooman  in  er  lil  cabin  des 
set  back  lil  way  fum  de  big  road  w'ichaways  all  de  movehs 
(movers,  emigrants)  go  wid  de  big  w'ite  waggin " 

"  Uh  huh,  dem  big  t'ing  de  w'ite  folks  call  de  '  perarer- 
schooneh.'  " 

"  Wid  de  big  w'ite  waggin,"  continued  Granny,  loftily  ignor- 
ing the  interruption,  "  dat  got  all  de  chilluns  an'  de  quilts  an'  de 
vittles  an'  de  plundeh  (plunder — baggage,  household  effects)  an' 
de  lil  sheet-iun  stove  an'  de  ole  ooman  pack  eenside,  an'  de 
dawg  unneat'  an'  de  cow  a-follerin',  an'  de  ole  man  a-walkin' 
'longside  ter  goad  de  oxen.  Dat  de  kine  hit  wuz.  an'  two,  free, 
ur  mo'n  dat,  pass  by  in  de  co'se  ob  de  day,  an'  dat  heap  o'  com- 
p'ny  ;  and  de  ole  ooman,  she  dig  an'  she  sow  an'  she  gedder  in 
de  crap  an'  she  ain't  lonesome  'tall.  Oh,  yes  !  she  closte  ter  de 
comp'ny  o'  de  big  road  an'  she  got  chilluns  o'  huh  own,  free 
nice  boys,  an'  dem  boys  putty  ez  de  sun  an'  moon  an'  stahs  an' 
ez  keen  ez  de  aige  ob  er  broadax.  De  oles'  boy,  she  name  him 
Nar,  an'  he  got  de  brackes'  eye  an'  ha'r  in  de  worl'.  De  nex', 
he  wuz  Brune,  an'  he  hab  er  yolleh  eye  lak  er  eagle,  an'  brown 
ha'r  an'  mo'  red  in  he  cheek.  De  younges',  he  wuz  de  pet 
lam'.  He  got  de  ha'r  lak  de  flax  on  de  spinnin'-wheel,  an'  de  eye 
lak  de  flax  w'en  de  blue  bloom  come  an'  skin  lak  de  milk-w'ite 
buckw'eat  floweh,  an,  oh,  he  so  sweet  an'  kine  !  He  hab  de 
pet  deer  an'  de  pet  rabbit  an'  de  pet  'coon  an'  de  pet  dove. 


284  OLD  RABBIT,   THE  VOODOO, 

Dat  mek  he  big  brers  laff.  Suh  !  he  ain'  keerin'  none,  he  laff 
he  own  se'f  wid  um." 

"  Wut  yo'  say  de  name  o*  dat  boy  ?  I  done  fegit,"  said  Aunt 
Mary,  with  the  intention  of  stimulating  Granny's  memory  in 
the  most  polite  manner  possible. 

"  I  ain'  say  yit"  answered  Granny,  with  cold  dignity.  "  I 
ain'  de  kine  dat  mess  up  er  tale.  Wen  I  gits  ter  de  right  place 
I  tells,  w'en  I  ain'  got  dar  I  holes  back.  De  name,  ez  I  wuz  on 
de  pints  o'  sayin',  dough,  wuz  Blonk,  leas'ways  dat  wut  Miss 
Robidoux  say,  an'  she  know  de  oomen  dat  know  dat  boy  wid 
de  light  curly  ha'r.  Yessuh  !  he  wuz  name  Blonk,  an'  hit  gin 
'im  er  heap  o'  werryment  de  way  dem  brerrehs  o'  hissen  kill, 
kill,  kill  all  de  woods-crittehs  dey  kin  come  at.  He  ain'  kill  much, 
ain'  Blonk,  but  he  kin  beat  de  worl  a-shootin'  ef  he  a-minter." 

"  Me  kon  dat  tale  !  "  cried  Big  Angy,  with  the  pleased  air  of 
meeting  an  old  friend. 

"  Den  yo'  gin  hit  de  finishmint,  Miss  Boogarry,"  said 
Granny.  "  Ise  got  er  frog  in  my  thote  dis  night,  an'  I  heap 
sooneh  lissum  at  dem  ole  tale  den  tell  um." 

"Me  shill  staht  at  de  night  dey  foun'  de  gals  ?  " 

"  Sholy." 

**  One  night,"  resumed  Big  Angy,  "  hit  bin  dahk  night  an1 
de  cole  rain  sizzle  down  an'  mek  de  fiah  spit.  All  dem  brerreh 
an'  dey  mama  sit  at  de  ha'th  foh  kip  wa'm.  De  rain  fall  slow 
an'  cole  an'  de  fiah  go  *  s-s-s-ss ! r  an'  '  pip-pap  !  ptt ! '  an'  de 
coals  jump  out  in  de  flo'.  De  ole  ooman  an'  de  boys  ver  glad 
dey  in  house.  De  deer,  he  stan'  in  shed  by  windeh  ;  de  chuffy 
an'  de  'coon  in  de  corndehs  by  de  chimly  ;  de  dove  go  sleep  wid 
haid  unneat  wing,  'way  up  mungs  de  raftehs.  All  go  well. 
De  folkses  roas'  de  tatehs  in  de  ashes  an'  eat  um  hup.  Dey 
br'ile  de  meat  on  de  coal  an'  eat  um  hup.  Dey  bile  de  bean- 
meal  in  de  pot  in  de  chimly  an'  eat  um  hup.  Den  dey  crack 
de  warnit  an'  pick  de  meat  hout  an'  eat  um  hup.  Arter  dat 
dey  smoke  an'  dey  tork. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  285 

*'  Bimeby  come  de  cry.  (  Hih  !  some  un  on  de  big  road  wid 
er  sick  chile,  dis  night,'  say  de  boy. 

"  *  Nah,  nah,  me  son,  shet  de  yeah,  foh  dat  de  painter.  De 
painter  cry,  'e  call  de  folks.  Wen  dey  come,  he  t'ar  out  de 
spurrit  an'  hole  hit  foh  sarvint,  den  'e  eat  de  kyarkiss.  Hole 
still,  me  son.' 

"  Cry  come  'gin. 

"  Blanc  staht  hup. 

"  '  Ef  'e  painteh,'  sez  'e,  'me  kill  urn  by  light  o'  'e  eye  dat 
shine  lak  fiah-coal.  Ef  'e  chile  me  fetch  um  in.' 

u  '  Nah,  nah,  me  son ' 

"  Ptt  ! — He  grab  de  gun  an'  gone. 

"  Dey  wait.  Dey  stan'  in  de  do'  an'  hole  de  han'  'bove  de 
eye  an'  try  peek  thu  de  dahk.  Ah-ee  !  see  nuttin  thu  de  wet 
an'  dahk,  hyeah  nuttin  cep  de  '  sh-sh-sh '  o'  de  cole  rain  comin' 
down. 

"  Go  back  in  de  cabin  an'  lissun.  Hyeah  no  cryin'.  Whah 
dat  boy  ? — Kyarn'  tell  muttin. 

"  Bimeby,  'way  in  de  woods,  come  de  *  bim-boom '  o*  de  big 
ole  gun. 

"  (  De  ole  gun  hit  sumpun,'  de  boys  say. 

"  Hit  do,  sholy.  Putty  queek  dey  hyeah  de  bresh  a-cracklin, 
an'  de  stomp,  stomp,  stomp  o'  er  man  dat  got  er  big  load  on  'e 
back.  Putty  queek  arter  dey  hyeah  '  pat,  pat,  pat '  'longside 
de  stompin'.  Den  Blanc,  'e  come  wid  er  daid  painter  on  'e 
back  an'  'e  fling  um  down  'fo'  de  fiah  an'  look  ahine  ter  see  wut 
foller.  De  turr  boys  look.  Hit  mek  de  haht  melt.  Dar  de 
two  putties'  gals  in  pe'cuts  o'  fur  an'  necklash  o'  claws,  an'  dey 
tork  sorf  (talk  softly)  an'  hole  out  de  han'.  Wut  dey  say,  personne 
kin  na  tell,  hit  sumpin  outlandish,  but  de  soun',  hit  sweet." 

"  I  reck'n  hit  de  tork  I  done  hyeah  w'en  I  wuz  young,  fum 
de  wile  niggehs  des  often  de  boats,"  said  Aunt  Mymee, 
musingly. 

"Mabbe,  mabbe   so.     Enway  dey  tork  sumpin,  an'  dey  so 


286 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


putty  an'  light,  wid  de  eye  lak  the  painter  an'  de  pe'cut  lak 
de  painter  fur,  an'  long,  long  ha'r  retchin'  down.  Blanc,  he 
say  he  foun'  um  in  de  wood.  Dey  run  at  'im  arter  'e  kill 
painter.  'E  mistrus'  dey  gwine  fight  an'  'e  club  de  gun  an  dey 
foller  'long. 

"  Zo  den,  dem  gal  stay,  an'  dey  eat  an'  dey  sleep  in  de  cabin 


DE    PAINTEH. 


wit  turr  folks.     De  ole  ooman,  she  don'  lak  dem  gal  ;  Rabbit, 
'e  don'  lak  dem  gal  ;  Deer,  'e  don'  lak  dem  gal  ;  Dove,  she 
don'  lak  dem  gal.     'Coon,  'e  de  onles  one  dat  lak  um,  an'  'e 
des  er  varmint  'e  own  se'f. 
"  Soon  ole  ooman  die. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  287 

"  Brun  lub  one  gal,  Noir  lub  turr.     Two  boy  merry  two  gal. 

"  Blanc,  he  na  keer  'tall,  but  de  gals  mek  lak  he  do  ter  (their) 

two  hubsums.  Dey  wuhk  on  de  mines  o'  de fools  an'  mek 

um  hab  de  jalousie.  Noir,  he  lay  de  plan  foh  kill  Blanc.  Deer, 
he  hyeah  dat  plan,  'e  sorry,  but  'e  'feard  de  gals  an'  don'  tell 
Blanc.  'E  tell  Dove.  Dove,  she  fly  at  'e  shouldeh  an'  tell  de 
bad  tale  in  'e  yeah.  Blanc,  he  sorry,  'e  go  'way. 

"  Wen  Noir  go  'way  off  on  de  big  hunt,  Blanc  go  back 
home,  kase  'e  lub  de  home  an'  de  grabe  o'  mama. 

"  Den  Brun,  'e  hab  de  plan  ter  kill  Blanc.  Rabbit  hyeah 
dat  tale.  'E  sorry,  but  'e  'feard  tell  Blanc,  'e  go  tell  Dove. 
Dove,  she  fly  at  'e  shouldeh  an'  she  coo  an'  she  coo,  an'  all  dat 
time  she  say  wuhd  now'n  den  dat  tell  de  bad  tale. 

"  Blanc  go  'way  gin.  'E  na  kin  tell  wut  'e  do.  *E  hab 
nossin  'e  kin  lub,  'e  berry  twiste.1  Dat  wut  'e  t'ink.  Aha  !  de 
deer  foller  'im  w'en  'e  donno,  de  rabbit  foller  'im  w'en  'e 
donno,  de  dove  foller  awso.  W'en  'e  stop  for  sleep  dey  come 
up,  dey  tork.  'E  stop  de  cryin'.  Nemmine  !  he  got  dem  ter 
lub.  He  mos'  glad  ergin. 

"  Bimeby,  de  coon  slip  up  an'  den  slip  back.  He  t'ink  dey 
ain'  see  'im,  but  Deer  'e  smell  'im,  Rabbit,  'e  see  'im,  Dove,  she 
see  'im.  All  tell  Blanc,  'Hab  de  care.'  Dove,  she  do  mo.' 
She  say — 

" '  Me  boun'  foh  tell  yo'  dem  gal  des  (are  just)  painters,  dat 
wut  dey  am.  We  know  all  de  time,  but  'feard  ter  tell.  Now  we 
desput,  we  wan'  dat  yo'  go  back,  git  de  close  o'  dem  gal  wiles 
dey  sleep  an'  buhn  um  all  hup.  Dat  kyore  yo'  trouble.  Dem 
gal  wan'  kill  you,  will  so,  else,  kase  yo'  kill  dey  papa.' 

u  'E  slip  back,  'e  git  de  pe'cuts,  'e  buhn  all  hup.  'E  slip  in 
de  cabin  in  de  night,  'e  feel  an'  feel  twell  'e  git  dem  pe'cuts, 
den  'e  run  out  wid  um,  an'  w'en  dey  'gin  ter  buhn  out  dar  in  the 
woods,  dem  gal  staht  up,  dey  scream  lak  painter,  dey  is  painter. 

*'  De  hubsum  git  de  gun,  dey  shoot  de  painter- wife.     Dey 

1  Trzste,  French,  sad. 


288  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

ain*  know  dem  de  wife,  dey  call  an'  call.  No  wife  dere,  des 
daid  painter  on  de  flo'. 

"Dey  t'ink  Blanc  got  dem  gals.  Dey  run,  dey  fine  'im  rakin* 
in  de  ashes.  'E  fling  dem  pe'cut  ashes  on  dem  brerreh.  De 
cha'm  broke !  Dem  brerreh  lub  'im  'gin.  All  go  back  ter 
cabin,  all  lib  dere  berry  gay." 

"  Dat  er  good  tale,  shoh  !  "  said  Aunt  Mymee,  with  un- 
qualified approval."  Dey  ain't  no  tricks  dem  paintehs  ain't  git 
up  ter.  Dey  wus  er  man  dat  I  know  dat  run  arter  painteh  in 
de  night,  w'en  he  t'ink  'e  hyeah  er  baby  cryin'.  Dat  de  las'  o' 
him.  He  old  ooman  go  out  fob  hunt  'im.  Dat  de  las'  o'  huh. 
He  brer  go  hunt  um  bofe.  Nuttin  git  'im,  kase  'e  got  er  rattle- 
snake belt  an'  er  duck-wing  whustle  an'  er  silveh  bullit  in  he 
gun.  De  painteh  et  he  kinfolks,  but  dat  de  las'  o'  dat  kine  o' 
eatin'.  Dat  painteh  git  kilt  and  et  up  hisse'f,  an'  he  hide,  hit 
hang  in  de  sun,  but  de  gostes  o'  dat  man's  kinfolks  wuz  allus 
a-perawdin'  eroun'  whah  dat  hide  wuz." 

"  I  knowed  er  man,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly, "  dat  kilt  er  mammy- 
painter  an'  tuck  de  kitten  home,  an'  dat  kitten  wuz  ez  fr'en'ly  ez 
er  pup.  Hit  sleep  wid  de  baby  in  de  ole  log  c'adle  an'  hit  lap 
milk  out  en  de  baby's  tin  cup,  but,  all  de  same,  w'en  dat  pet 
kitty  git  big,  one  night,  de  man  hyeah  sorter  guggle  lak 
chokin'  an'  sorter  smack  lak  suckin',  an'  dat  go  on  twell  he 
jump  up  an'  light  er  chunk  an'  look  in  de  c'adle.  Gord  !  Dat 
painter-kitty  done  cut  de  baby's  thote  an'  suckin'  hit  blood  I 
He  jerk  de  gun  off  de  hawns  (deer-horns  used  as  a  gun-rack) 
an'  shoot  de  painter,  but  wut  o'  dat  ?  de  poor  baby  daid.  Oh, 
mon  !  de  paintehs  is  varmints,  but  dey's  debbils  too  !  " 

The  audience  gloomily  acquiesced,  and  mused  and  smoked  in 
silence  until  Uncle  John  "  drapped  in "  and,  on  finding  the 
cause  of  the  depression,  plunged  into  description  of  a  "  festible  " 
he  had  attended  a  few  nights  previous. 

"  An'  arter  de  chickens  an'  bile  custahd  wuz  et,"  he  went  on 
with  growing  enthusiasm,  <f  de  ladies  all  stud  up,  wid  Aunt 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  289 

Stacie  at  de  haid  un  um,  an'  Misteh  Hicks,  he  sot  out  ter 
darnce  dat  ( shiny-eye  '  darnce  dat  am  er  sorter  painter-play 
too.  My  !  hit  mek  my  eye  bat  now,  ter  t'ink  how  fine  'twuz. 
Misteh  Hicks,  he  laigs  des  ez  limmer  ez  wilier-twigs,  he  des 
kyurve  roun'  ez  light  ez  er  budh  on  de  wing.  He  sorter 
'vance  an'  sorter  dror  off  an'  den  sail  up  ter  de  fust  o'  dem 
thutty  ladies  a-stannin'  in  er  row  an'  he  say — 

"  «  Whah  my  eye  ? ' 
an'  ez  she  say, 

'  Shiny-eye  ! ' 

he  tuhn  'er  roun'  ez  sorf  ez  ef  huh  footses  bin  mek  outen 
feddehs,  an'  den  he  go  on  ter  de  nex,  an'  de  nex',  twell  he  tuhn 
um  all. 

"  Den  I  tuck  de  stan',  an'  w'en  I  thu,  de  turr  boys  foller,  an' 
w'en  all  bin  down  de  line,  we  wuz  dat  hot  an'  sweaty — scuse 
me,  ladies — we  wuz  all  shiny-eyes.  Dat  HI  Mose,  he  wuz  de 
las',  an'  w'en  he  come  ter  dat  yaller  gal,  Hanner,  dat  wuhk  at 
de  bodin'-(boarding)  house,  he  say — 

*  \fourf  my  eye* 

dat  sweet  dat  hit  seem  lak  de  'lasses  wuz  des  a-dribblin'  outen 
de  corndehs  ob  he  mouf." 

"  Wut  she  do  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Mary,  bridling  at  Uncle  John's 
significant  look. 

"  She  let  on  lak  she  gwine  tuhn  'er  back,  den  she  giggle  an* 
shuck  'er  shouldehs,  but  all  de  time  she  puttin'  'er  han'  forruds 
foh  'im  ter  grab.  Shuh  !  er  ooman's  er  ooman,  an'  de  mo'  she 
run,  de  mo'  she  gwine  ter  be  dis'pointed  ef  yo'  ain't  got  de  spry- 
ness  ter  ketch  up." 

"  Dem's  fools  ez  does,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  suddenly  sour. 

"  Does  ketch  up  ?  No,  no,  my  honey,  my  lub,  my  turkl-dub. 
De  ladies  is  de  meat  on  de  bone,  de  sugeh  in  de  dram.  Yes- 
suh  1  Now,  ladies,  les  all  stan'  up  an'  try  dat  '  shiny-eye.' " 

20 


290  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

Gemplum. — Whah  my  eye  ? 
Lady.  —Shiny-eye  ! 
Gemplum. — Who  got  my  eye  ? 
Lady. — Shiny-eye  ! 
Gemplum. — Am  dis  my  eye? 
Lady. — Shiny -eye  ! 
Gemplum. — Who  foun'  my  eye? 
Lady. — Shiny-eye  ! 
Gemplum. — I  los'  my  eye. 
Lady. — Shiny-eye ! 
Gemplum. — I  foun'  my  eye  I 
Lady. — Tee-hee  !  -S-sh-shiny-eye! 


XIX. 

THE  LAST  GLEANING   OF  THE  FIELD. 

Tow  HEAD  had  been  off  on  what  Granny  was  pleased  to  term 
a  "jant,"  and  had  not  seen  her  old  friends  for  weeks.  She 
insisted  on  the  evening  meeting  being  turned  into  a  festival  of 
rejoicing  at  her  return.  When  everybody  had  inspected  her 
small  figure  and  assured  her  that  she  had  "  growed  mightily," 
been  missed  "  heaps,"  and  "  wouldn'  skusely  a-bin  knowed  ef 
met  up  wid  on  de  big  road,"  she  had  "corned  on  so,"  had 
expressed  unbounded  gratitude  for  her  most  astonishing  and 
inappropriate  presents,  and  had  vowed  to  keep  them  "fr  evveh- 
nevveh  an'  amen,"  she  demanded  a  story,  "  a  nice  one 
without  any  snakes  or  jackys  at  all." 

"  Hit  am  a-gittin'  late  foh  tales.  De  icicles  is  down  an'  de 
fros'  a-comin'  up  oulen  de  groun',"  expostulated  Granny. 
<(  Hit  fetch  bad  luck  ter  tell  tales  arter  de  HI  booggers  dat's  bin 
froze  up  all  de  winteh  gits  loose  an'  goes  a-perawdin'  eroun' 
an'  a-lis'nin'." 

"  It's  awfully  cold  to-night,"  insisted  Tow  Head,  trying  hard 
to  shiver.  "  Tell  a  bird  story,  do,  or  else  I'll  go  off  and  stay 
until  you  won't  know  me." 

"  I  reck'n  we  betteh  gin  in,  ef  dat  am  wut  am  afo'  us.  Tell 
'er  er  tale,  Aunt  Em'ly,  soster  sabe  de  feelin's  ob  de  fambly." 

"  Sure  1  dat  de  wuhk  foh  yo'  own  se'f,  Aunt  Jinny." 

"G'long  wid  yo'.  Ise  a-tuhnin'  er  tale  roun'  in  my 
membunce  an'  a-huntin'  foh  de  fust  eend  un  hit,  but  'tain't 

291 


292  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

show  out  wid  me  yit.  G'long,  Aunt  Em'ly,  de  w'iles  I  sorter 
sort  out  dat  membunce  dat's  a-gittin'  so  ole  an'  frazzly." 

"  Frazzly  !  Shucks  !  Wen  yo'  git  frazzly  I  be  plum  wo'  out, 
dar  now  !  Ef  hit  'bleege  yo'  dough,  I  tell  de  onles'  tale  dat's 
lef  me — ur  is  I  tole  yo'  a'ready,  de  tale  ob  de  two  b'ars  an'  Ole 
Woodpeckeh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  you  have  not." 

"  Sholy  ?  " 

"  Surely.  You  have  told  only  of  the  one  bear  Old  Wood- 
pecker fooled  out  of  his  claws." 

"  Dat'n  ain't  de  one.     Dishaway  dis  urr  tale  go  : — 

"  Dey  wuz  wunst  er  ole  mammy  b'ar  dat  wuz  er  widdeh- 
b'ar,  an',  ez  she  wuz  gwine  'long  thu  de  woods,  one  time — hit 
wuz  'long  in  de  spring-time — she  met  up  wid  nurr  b'ar  dat 
wuz  er  ole  maid.  Arter  dey  ax  one  nurr  howdy  an'  pass  de 
time  o'  day  an'  say  how  dey  feel  lonesome  now  dey  fambly  all 
bruck  up,  dey  sorter  'gree  an'  mek  hit  up  dat  dey  keep  house 
tergerreh  enduin'  o'  de  wa'm  weddeh.  So  say,  so  do,  an'  dey 
settle  down  tergerreh  des  ez  dey  laid  off,  an'  dey  hunt  an'  dey 
fish  an'  'vide  eben  (divide  evenly)  an'  fa'r  twell  ole  Miss  Wid- 
deh-b'ar,  she  tuck  er  cole  mm  a-gittin'  'er  footses  wet  w'en  she 
was  out  a-fishin',  an'  hit  sottle  in  'er  eyes,  hit  did,  an'  bimeby  hit 
putt  um  clean  out.  Dat  wuz  er  bad  time  foh  Miss  B'ar.  Dar  she 
wuz,  in  'er  own  house,  but  dat  ole  maid  b'ar  ain'  fetch  'er  nuttin 
but  de  bones  ;  all  de  good  meat  she  don't  eat  right  up  she  keep 
on  de  high  swingin'  she'fin  de  sulleh  whah  po'  olebline  mammy 
kyarn'  fine  hit.  Mammy,  she  sorter  s'pishin'  sumpin,  but  dar 
she  am,  an'  no  use  ter  say  nuttin,  but  she  git  mo'  leaner  all  de 
time,  twell  'er  bones  rattle  w'en  de  win'  blow  an'  'er  hide  flop 
lak  er  flag  on  de  hill-top.  Ef  'twuzzent  foh  Ole  Woodpeckeh, 
ole  mammy,  she'd  des  natchelly  a-gin  up  de  gose,  but  he  wuz 
a-knockin'  roun*  mungs  de  shingles  on  de  roof  an'  he  hyeah 
ole  mammy  snumn'  an'  cryin' — de  ole  maid  wuz  out  a-huntin* 
— an'  he  peek  down  de  chimbly  an'  see  des  how  'twuz. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  293 

"  '  Nemmine  !  '  he  say,  '  I  fix  dat.'  Den  he  holler  down, 
1  Hello,  mammy  !  come  he'p  me.' 

"  She  stop  de  cryin'  an'  say — 

"  '  Who  is  yo'  ?  ' 

"  He  holler  'gin— 

" '  Ise  er  po'  HI  boy  got  stuck  in  yo'  chimbly.' 

"  Stiddier  scolin'  lak  de  ole  maid  'd  a-done,  po'  ole  mammy 
grope  ter  de  chimbly  an'  feel  roun'  ter  he'p. 


"OLE  MISS  WIDDEH-B'AR,  SHE  TUCK  ER  COLE  FUM  A-GITTIN'  ER 
FOOTSES  WET  W'EN  SHE  WAS  OUT  A-F1SHIN'." 

" i  Po'  chile,'  sez  she,  '  Ise  'feard  I  kyarn'  do  much.  Holler 
1gin  sost  I  kin  tell  des  whah  yo'  is,  kase  Ise  bline,  honey.' 

"  He  holler  an'  holler  an'  keep  ole  mammy  a-feelin'  roun' 
twell  she  des  'stractid.  Den,  all  on  de  suddint,  he  fling  er 
chahm  spang  in  'er  face  dat  fetch  back  'er  sight  dat  quick 
dat  she  see  Ole  Woodpeckeh  fly  outen  dat  chimbly  an'  cl'ar 
out. 


294  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  She  run  ter  de  do*  anr  holler — 

"  '  T'anky,  Marse  Woodpeckeh,  t'anky,'  an'  den  she  hunt 
foh  vittles.  She  foun'  um  too,  on  dat  high  swingin'  she'f  in 
de  sulleh,  an'  she  et  all  de  meat  an'  lay  back  de  bone  'fo'  ole 
maid  git  back. 

"  She  ain't  say  nuttin. 

"  Ole  maid  see  how  'tis  an*  she  ain't  say  nuttin. 

"  Arter  dat  dey  git  'long  putty  well,  an'  w'en  dey  tuhn  in 
(turn  in — hibernate)  ole  mammy  wuz  de  fattes.'  Dey  don' 
keep  house  dataway,  dey  don't,  de  nex'  spring,  dough,  kase  ole 
mammy,  she  merry  'gin,  an'  wut  come  o'  de  ole  maid  I  dunno." 

"Maybe  she  went  to  the  mountains,  or,  maybe,  she  went 
into  the  woods  and,  when  the  trees  began  to  walk  and  talk  at 
midnight,  they  killed  her  or  pulled  her  tail  oft,  or  something," 
hazarded  Tow  Head. 

"  Mebbe  so,  honey,  mebbe  so,  but  le's  gin  'er  up  now,  an' 
git  dat  tale  fum  Aunt  Jinny.  By  de  way  she  bat  'er  eye  I  km 
tell  dat  hit's  on  han's." 

It  was  "  on  han's,"  and,  as  Granny  said,  "  dreened  one  po* 
ole  ooman  dry  "  of  bird  stories.  It  was  of  the  bee-king,  the 
shell-bark  hickory  and  the  bee-martin — less  about  the  martin, 
indeed,  than  the  tree  and  the  king,  still  it  would  pass  for  a  bird 
story. 

"  In  de  good  ole  times  dey  wuz  times  w'en  de  folkses  wuz 
pestehed  des  lak  dey  is  now.  Dey  wuz  times  w'en  de  chilluns 
git  beans  up  der  noses  an'  bugs  in  dey  yeahs,  an'  de  chimlies 
smoked,  an'  de  butteh  won't  come,  an'  de  kerridge  hosses  go 
lame,  an  de  perarer  fiah  buhn  up  all  de  fences,  an'  de  young 
crittehs  lay  down  in  de  fiel'  an'  die  'pear  lak  des  foh  spite.  Oh, 
yes  !  dat  allus  bin  de  way,  an'  de  ole  bee-king  he  own  se'f  'low 
nobody  know  de  trouble  he  hab.  Dat  wuz  troof  too,  he  hin 
hab  heaps  o'  werrimint  wid  de  b'ars  an'  de  mot-millehs  (moth- 
millers)  an'  de  humin'  crittehs  a-sneakin'  arter  de  honey-comb, 
an'  de  buhd  san'  de  toads,  an'  de  fishes  too,  a-snappin'  at  de 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  295 

bees.  Hit  'pear  lak  some  day  he  des  gwine  ter  fly  clean  off  de 
hannel  an'  go  plum  'stractid.  One  yeah,  hit  'pear  lak  he  des 
gwine  ter  lose  de  las'es'  bee  he  got.  Ole  Bee-Martin,1  he  hab 
de  big  luck  a-ketchin'  ob  um  twell  he  s'prise  he  own  se'f.  De 
bees  dey  staht  out  in  de  mawnin'  des  ez  spry,  an'  dey  go 
a-hummin'  an'  a-buzzin'  to'des  de  perarer-blooms  an'  de  tree- 
tossels,  an'  dey  don't  ne'er  git  back  no  mo'.  Dey  des  natchelly 
gone,  cl'ar  an'  clean  ez  er  gose  (ghost)  arter  sun-up.  Hit  keep 
on  dataway  mos'  all  de  summeh-tirne,  an'  Ole  Bee-King,  he 
study  an'  he  study,  an'  he  watch  an'  he  watch,  an'  he  am'  see 
nuttin  git  dem  bees.  Mor'n  dat,  he  ain't  s'pishin'  nuttin  ne-er. 
He  see  um  sot  out,  he  see  um  load  up  wid  honey,  he  see  um 
staht  out  foh  ter  tote  dat  honey  home.  Up,  up  dey  go,  den 
he  don't  see  um  come  down.  Dey  don't  come  down.  '  Sumpin 
a-ketchin'  ob  um,'  sez  Ole  Bee-King,  sez  'e.  Den  he  look  up 
an'  shade  he  eye  wid  de  han',  dishaway,  an'  he  keep  a-lookin'. 
De  sun  so  strong  he  wink  an' — shuh  !  whah  dem  bees  ?  Bees 
gone  foh  good.  Mighty  bad  !  King,  he  mighty  mad.  Nem- 
mine,  at  de  las'  he  ketch  de  t'ief.  He  hole  one  eye  open  an' 
wink  wid  de  turr.  Den  he  hole  turr  eye  open  an'  wink  wid  de 
fust  shet.  Dat  way  he  see  mighty  trashy,  long-tail  brown  buhd 
sneak  outen  de  shag-bahk  (rough  bark)  hick'ry  tree  leabes  an' 
grab  dem  bees  des  ez  quick  ez  lightnin'  an'  den  fly  back  an'  hide. 

" '  Uh  huh  ! '  sez  Ole  Bee-King,  sez  'e,  *  so  dat's  de  way,  am 
hit  ?  Dat  ole  shag-bahk  bin  on  de  watch,  an'  de  minnit  dat 
I  tuhn  my  back  ur  shet  my  peepuhs,  he  gin  dat  low  down, 
ornery  t'ief  de  wuhd  (wood),  an*  he  sail  in  an'  eat  my  chilluns,' 
sez  'e.  *  De  owdashus  ole  squirr'l-feedeh  !  Ef  I  ain'  stop  he 
tricks  an'  gin  'im  sumpin  ter  'membeh  me  by  inter  de  bahgin, 
den  I  dunno  bees  fum  bug-aigs,'  sez  'e. 

"  Fust,  he  t'ink  'e  peterfack  'im,  but  den  de  ole  shag-bahk's 
troubles  'd  a-bin  done  foh  good  an'  all.     Shoh  !  he  t'ink  'gin 
an'  he  ain't  satify.     Den  he  study  some  mo',  an'  den  he  git  up 
1  A  bird  which  preys  op  trees. 


296 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 


an'  shahpen  he  fingeh-nails.  Dat  done,  he  run  up  'gin  de  ole 
shag-bahk  an'  gun  'im  sech  er  clawin'  dat  he  leabe  'im  wid  de 
bahk  all  frazzle  out  ez  'tis  ter  dis  day.  Dat  ain't  satify  Ole 
Bee-King  yit.  He  tuck  an'  tuck  er  big  straw  an'  suck  all  de 
sweetnin'  outen  de  hulls  o'  all  de  nuts — dey  wuz  sweet  ez  plums 
'fo'  dat — an'  den  he  tek  de  straw  an'  blow  in  some  puckeh-juice 
(pucker,  astringent,  puckering  the  mouth)  outen  er  mean  weed. 
"  *  Now,'  he  say,  'lemme  see  yo'  coax  my  bees  ter  come  anigh 
yo'.  Yo'  sweetnin'  gone  foh  good.' 


"OLE    BEE-KING    HE   TUCK   AN5    TUCK    ER    BIG     S'l  RAW. 


"  'Twuz  too.  Dem  hulls  bitteh  ter  dis  day.  Dat  mighty 
hahd  ter  stan',  but  wut  mo'  hahd  yet  wuz  dat  nuttin  wuzzent 
done  unter  de  bee-martin  dat  et  de  bees.  To-be-sho,  Ole  Bee- 
King,  he  lay  off  ter  gin  'im  he  come-uppunce,  but  den  Bee- 
Martin,  he  so  spry  an'  so  sly  dat  he  ain't  ne'er  gin  'im  de  charnce 
yit." 

"  Why  didn't  Bee-King  petrify  the  hickory?  "  asked  the  child, 
with  a  disappointed  air. 

"  T  dunno,  honey,  no  mo'n  yo'  own  se'f,  medout  de  ole  king 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  297 

thunk  dat  too  easy  'bout  stoppin'  trouble,  but  de  nex'  time  I 
sees  'im  I  gwine  ter  putt  dat  queschin  pintedly." 

"  Pettifyin'  dangis  (is  dangerous),"  said  Big  Angy,  and,  as  a 
proof  of  this,  told  of — 

THE  HAND  OF  STONE. 

In  the  old  time  a  beautiful  girl  came  to  the  earth.  No  one 
knew  where  she  came  from,  and  she  never  would  give  any 
account  of  herself.  All  that  was  known  was  that  one  day 
some  young  braves  standing  near  a  village  saw  something  fall 
through  the  air  very  swiftly  and  alight  on  a  hill  close  by.  They 
ran  to  the  hill  and  found  there  the  girl,  unhurt,  but  seemingly 
bewildered.  By  signs  they  invited  her  to  go  with  them  to  the 
village.  She  went  willingly.  The  chief's  wife  would  have 
kept  her,  but  she  would  not  have  it  so.  She  went  to  an  empty 
lodge  and  stayed  there  ;  she  refused  all  presents  of  food,  and 
went  down  to  the  river  near  by  and  called  to  the  fish  in  strange 
words.  When  they  came  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  in 
response  to  her  call,  she  gathered  them  up,  one  by  one,  using 
only  her  left  hand,  and  ate  them,  bones  and  all.  Soon  she 
learned  the  language  of  the  people,  and  talked  pleasantly  with 
them.  The  hearts  of  the  young  men  turned  to  her,  for  no 
girl  of  the  village  was  her  equal  in  beauty  and  grace.  She 
smiled  on  all,  and  all  were  her  lovers.  Many  went  to  her  lodge, 
and  none  came  out  the  same  as  they  went  in.  They  went  in 
men,  they  came  out  helpless  children.  This  made  the  old  men 
and  the  women  hate  and  fear  her,  but  the  young  men  were 
bewitched,  and  would  listen  to  no  counsel — the  sight  of  their 
foolish  companions  was  no  warning — they  bitterly  denied  that 
the  beautiful  stranger  had  wrought  the  evil.  Many  plans  were 
laid  by  the  old  men  and  women  to  destroy  her,  but  they  never 
came  to  anything,  she  was  too  wise  and  too  wary.  It  was  a 
young  woman  that  finally  delivered  the  people,  a  young  wife 
whose  husband  had  been  turned  from  her.  She  secretly  followed 


298  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

him  to  the  stranger's  lodge  and  watched.  By  the  moonlight 
she  saw  the  stranger  withdraw  her  right  hand  from  the  folds 
of  the  robe  where  it  was  usually  hidden.  The  light  fell  on  it. 
It  was  of  stone.  With  it  she  touched  the  breast  of  the  faithless 
husband.  Then  she  pushed  him  from  the  door.  The  young 
wife  saw  what  happened,  and  in  silence  and  sorrow  led  him 
home.  All  his  pride  and  courage  were  dead.  His  heart  was 
stiffened  into  stone  by  the  hand  that  had  touched  him.  The 
poor  wife  went  to  the  sorcerers  and  told  them  what  she  had 
learned.  When  they  heard  they  trembled,  they  could  think 
of  no  spell  strong  enough  to  protect  the  village.  Were  all  the 
young  men  to  become  imbeciles,  and  was  the  name  of  the 
people  to  be  forgotten  ?  They  deliberated  a  long  time,  trying 
to  recall  some  old  charm  strong  enough  to  overpower  this 
supernatural  woman.  They  fasted  solemnly,  and  entreated 
aid  from  the  spirit  that  had  always  helped  them.  After  that 
they  could  only  wait.  For  a  time  no  help  seemed  coming. 
The  woman  went  on  doing  mischief,  but  mischief  was  not  to 
last  always.  One  day  she  went  as  usual  down  a  steep,  high 
bluff  to  a  narrow,  low  strip  of  bank  where  she  was  wont  to 
look  into  the  deep  water  and  call  up  the  fish.  This  time  she 
called  and  none  came.  She  called  again  and  again.  Finally, 
she  stamped  her  foot  and  said  words  that  would  dismay  devils 
even.  Then  came  up  a  little  fish  like  silver.  She  took  him 
into  her  mouth  and  began  to  swallow.  He  began  to  swell. 
She  choked,  and  vainly  essayed  to  get  him  down  her  throat. 
When  she  could  not,  and  he  continued  to  grow,  she  tried  to 
spit  him  out  of  her  mouth.  That  she  could  not  do  either,  so 
she  took  her  hand  and  tried  to  pull  him  out.  When  she  failed 
in  that,  she  forgot  all  caution  and,  leaning  against  the  bluff, 
pulled  hard  with  both  hands.  Alas  !  the  fish  stiffened  into 
stone,  choking  her  horribly.  In  agony  she  clutched  her  throat, 
she  beat  her  breast,  but  her  trouble  was  soon  over,  soon  she 
was  no  longer  a  woman.  All  her  body  became  as  that  evil 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS. 


299 


right  hand.  The  rocky  bluff  received  her  as  a  part  of  itself, 
and  there  she  stands  to  this  day,  as  many  have  seen  as  they 
floated  down  the  great  Missouri  river.  Thus  were  the  people 
rid  of  her.  Those  of  good  mind  and  courage  rejoiced,  but 
those  foolish  victims,  who  were  never  cured  of  her  enchant- 


DE    PELICANS. 

ment,  went  about  grieving  for  her  and  seeking  her  as  long  as 
they  lived. 

"  Dat  mus'  a-bin  de  fish  dat  kilt  Pelican, "cried  Aunt  Em'ly, 
greatly  excited. 

"  Mebbe,"  said  Big  Angy,  rather  sourly. 

"  Did  a  fish  turn  Pelican  to  stone  ?  "   questioned  Tow  Head. 


300  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  No,  honey,"  answered  Aunt  Em'ly,  with  a  solemnity 
befitting  the  recounting  of  a  tragedy,  "  hit  bustid  'im,  bustid 
'im  wide  open,  dat  des  wut  hit  do." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  how  did  that  happen  ?  " 

"  'Way  back  yondeh  in  de  ole  times,  Pelican,  he  wuz  ez  gay 
ez  er  flea  in  de  cawn-shucks,  but  de  folks  in  de  lake  dat  wuz 
neighbehs  unter  'im,  dey  wuzzent  gay  none,  kase  w'y,  he  des 
et  um  mos'  all  up  an'  de  res',  dey  wuz  spectin'  ter  go  dataway 
mos'  enny  time.  Po'  t'ings  !  Dem  frogs  an'  fishes  wuz 
'stractid  out  an'  out,  an  dey  don't  'tall  know  wut  in  de  wide 
worl'  ter  do.  At  de  las',  dough,  dey  wuz  one  big  ole  buffler 
(buffalo)  fish  dat  say  he  'low  he  go  ax  de  mud-hens  an'  git  um 
ter  ax  dey  granny  dat  wuz  de  big  witch  unneat'  de  lake.  De 
turr  fish  'gree  unter  dat,  an'  he  go  ax  de  mud-hens  wut  all  de 
folks  in  de  lake  gwine  ter  do  an'  won't  dey  ax  dey  granny. 

u  '  Sholy,'  say  dey,  *  kase  we  'spise  Ole  Pelican  a-stannin' 
roun'  on  one  laig  an'  a-blinkin'  in  de  sun  an'  a-ketchin'  up  all 
de  crittehs,  an'  ef  he  don'  swaller  um  right  off  a-puttin'  um  in 
dat  big  yaller  bag  unneat'  he  bill. 

"  Oh  !  dey  tork  servigrous  (fiercely)  an'  dey  go  off  an'  dey  ax 
dey  granny  ter  he'p  an'  den  dey  come  back  unter  Buffler  wid  er 
HI  teenty  fish  des  a-shinin'  lak  watteh  in  de  sun,  an'  dey  say 
unter  'im — 

"  (Granny  gun  dat  unter  us,  an'  she  say  yo'  mus'  swaller  um/ 

"  Buffler,  he  swaller  um,  an'  den  de  minnit  dat  lil  fish  down 
Buffler,  he  grow  turr'ble  an'  look  mighty  good.  He  swim  up 
ter  Pelican  an'  Pelican,  he  gulf  'im  down  quick.  Whooh  ! 
Buffler,  he  grow  an'  he  grow  an'  he  grow  twell  he  bust  Pelican 
wide  open.  Den  he  go  home  an  tell  all  de  frogs  an'  de  fish  an' 
de  tadpoles,  an'  den,  big  ez  he  am,  he  tuhn  mighty  sick.  He 
git  so  sick  he  frow  up,  he  frow  up  dat  lil  w'ite,  shiny  fish.  Den 
he  feel  betteh,  but  he  swink  up  twell  he  des  de  size  he  wuz  'fo* 
he  et  um,  an'  dat  de  way  he  stay." 

"  What  became  of  the  little  white  fish  ?  "  asked  the  child. 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  301 

"  He  dove  down  ter  whah  de  witch  wuz,  an'  dat  all  I  know 
'bout  'im." 

"  Dat  na  all  'bout  Buffler,"  said  Big  Angy.  "  Dey  wuz  er 
man  come  fum  T'undeh-Lan',  kase  Pelican  got  kinfolks  dar, 
an'  he  shoot  t'ree  arreh,  one  in  de  sky,  hit  snow  ;  one  in  de 
groun',  hit  freeze  ;  one  in  de  lake,  hit  go  dat  cole  an'  solide  dat 
all  de  fish  die — Buffler  mungs  um." 

"  Troof  dat,"  said  Aunt  Em'ly,  placidly,  «  an'  de  lake  bin 
solid  ice  yit,  mebbe,  ef  Ole  Rabbit  ain't  cross  um  gittin'  home 
fum  er  pathy  an'  he  drap  he  luck-ball  dar  an'  de  lake  melt  dat 
quick  dat  Ole  Chuffy  wuz  nigh  a-gittin'  drowndid." 

"  That's  all  horrid,"  pouted  the  child,  "  why  don't  you  tell 
a  bird  story  ?  " 

"  Ain't  Pelican  no  buhd  ?  "  inquired  Aunt  Mymee. 

"  He  isn't  a  nice  one  like  woodpecker,  or  even  Blue  Jay." 

"  Troof,"  grunted  Big  Angy,  pleased  with  the  commendation 
of  her  favourite.  "  Me  tell  de  nice  tale  un  'im  now." 

WOODPECKER  AND  THE  YOUNG  MAN. 

One  time  there  was  a  young  man  named  Young  Moon  going 
along  a  trail  through  the  woods.  He  went  along  thinking  of 
what  the  old  men  told  him  and  troubling  nothing.  At  last  he 
was  roused  by  a  cry  of  distress,  and  something  fell  at  his  feet. 
It  was  a  very  young  woodpecker.  He  took  it  in  his  hands,  and 
as  he  did  so  he  saw  a  great  black  snake  gliding  down  the  tree 
from  which  the  bird  fell.  He  dropped  the  bird,  seized  his  bow 
and  a  keen  little  arrow,  and  shot  the  snake  in  the  neck,  pinning 
it  to  the  tree.  Almost  instantly,  however,  the  terrible  thing 
pulled  loose,  and  flung  itself  at  the  youth,  darting  fire  from  its 
tongue  and  hissing  horribly.  Nothing  daunted,  he  fought  it 
fiercely,  using  knife  or  hatchet  as  he  could.  They  fought  a 
long  time,  and  the  young  man  was  almost  killed  by  the  poison 
spit  into  the  air  and  the  burning  breath  of  the  serpent. 
Finally,  he  gave  a  last  despairing  thrust,  and  it  rolled  over 


302 


OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO 


dead.  For  a  long  time  he  could  not  move.  When  he  could 
he  was  in  haste  to  get  away,  but  the  pitiful  voice  of  a  child 
stopped  him.  He  looked  all  around.  Finally,  he  saw  a  little 
red  baby  sitting  among  the  leaves  where  he  had  dropped  the 
woodpecker. 

"  Do  not  leave  me  until  my  father  comes,"  entreated  the 
little  one. 

The  young  man  was  frightened.  He  saw  that  he  was  with 
a  child  of  the  sorcerers,  and  knew  not  what  to  do.  The  child 


HE  SHOT   THE   SNAKE. 

smiled  to  reassure  him,  and  asked  to  be  set  on  the  trunk  of  the 
tree.  The  young  man  lifted  him,  but  before  he  could  place 
him  on  the  tree  a  terrible  voice  said — 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  my  child  ?  '' 

The  young  man  had  not  a  word  to  say,  but  the  child 
answered — 

"  He  saved  me  from  the  great  snake,  your  enemy.  Being 
a  man,  not  a  sorcerer,  he  could  kill  it.  Here  it  lies,  dead." 

At  this  there  came  through  the  undergrowth  a  little   red 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  303 

man  dressed  in  a  fine  bonnet  of  eagles'  feathers  stained  red,  and 
an  embroidered  black  blanket.  He  looked  pleasantly  on  the 
young  man  as  he  strode  up  to  him  and  took  the  child  from  his 
hands.  He  said  no  word,  but  ran  with  the  child  up  the  tree. 
When  he  was  just  disappearing  into  an  opening  high  up  on  the 
trunk,  he  turned  and  flung  down  a  black  feather  marked  with 
white  and  twisted  like  a  ringlet. 

"  Keep  this  always,"  he  said,  "  and  it  will  do  you  more  good 
than  you  have  done  me." 

At  once  he  went  out  of  sight. 

After  waiting  a  long  time  to  see  if  he  would  reappear,  the 
youth  went  home. 

From  that  time  he  prospered  exceedingly.  All  the  girls 
loved  him,  all  his  enemies  feared  him,  he  had  the  greatest 
number  of  horses,  he  killed  the  most  game,  he  had  the 
strongest  children.  He  thought  he  owed  it  all  to  the  feather, 
and  was  careful  of  it.  When  he  grew  old  he  became  vain,  and 
changed  his  mind.  He  had  the  feather  loosely  twisted  in  his 
hair  one  day,  and  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  blew  it  away.  That 
night  enemies  burned  the  village,  carried  off  his  horses,  wives, 
and  children,  killed  his  friends.  He  escaped  in  the  darkness, 
but  what  of  that  ?  Better  be  killed  with  your  friends  than  be 
eaten  up  by  wolves. 

Tow  Head  almost  groaned.  "  I  want  to  hear  a  story  that 
will  make  me  laugh,"  she  complained. 

"  Is  I  tell  yo'  'bout  Ole  Jay  Buhd's  brack  bahs  (bars)  on  he 
blue  coat  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Mary. 

That  sounded  promising.  The  child  encouraged  Aunt  Mary 
to  tell  all  she  knew  about  the  black  bars  on  the  blue  coat. 

**  One  dem  times  w'en  Ole  Jay,  he  wuz  a-gittin'  in  lub  an' 
a-gittin'  de  big  laugh  on  'im  foh  he  trouble,  he  go  fall  in  lub 
wid  er  gal-buhd  dat  wuz  ez  sweet  ez  'lasses  todes  Bluebuhd. 
I  done  fegit  de  name  o'  dat  gal-buhd,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  with 
the  anxious  look  of  a  historian  resolved  on  perfect  accuracy. 


304  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

"  Hit  mought  a-bin  Yellah-Hammeh,  ur  Sparrer,  ur  Buntin',  ur 
Pea-Buhd,  ur  mos'  enny  name,  kase  Bluebuhd,  he  er  mighty 
fayvorite  wid  um  all." 

"  Never  mind  !  I  don't  care  for  her  name.  What  did  Jay 
do  ?  "  said  Tow  Head,  impatiently. 

"  He  tuck  hisse'f  off  ter  de  Ole  Boy,  dat  wut  he  done,  de 
nex'  Friday,  an'  w'en  he  git  thu  a-flingin'  down  de  san',  he  up 
an'  ax,  he  do,  ef  he  ain't  done  nuff  ter  'zarve  some  pay.  De 
Ole  Boy  bin  feelin'  peart  dat  day  an'  he  sorter  grin  an  he 
say — 

" ( I  reck'n  I  done  treat  yo'  well,  but  den  I  kin  treat  yor 
betteh.  Wut  yo'  arter  now,  enny  ways  ?  ' 

"  Den  Ole  Jay,  he  ups  an'  sez,  he  do — 

"  '  I  wanter  blue  coat  des  lak  Bluebuhd's.' 

"  Ole  Boy,  he  study  some,  den  he  gin  'im  de  blue  coat.  Oft 
go  Jay  des  a-prancin'. 

"  Nex'  week  he  come  back. 

"  *  De  gal  ain't  set  none  by  dat  coat,'  said  he.  *  Gimme  er 
top-knot.' 

"  Ole  Boy  gin  'im  er  top-knot.  Off  go  Jay  des  a-prancin' 
an'  a-r'arin'  up. 

"  Nex'  week  he  come  back. 

"  *  Dat  gal  ain't  set  none  by  dat  top-knot.  Gimme  gole 
laigs.' 

"  Wid  dat  Ole  Boy  wuz  mad.  He  wuz  a-br'ilin'  sumpin  at 
dat  minnit  an'  he  des  up  wid  de  hot  gridiun  an'  he  fling  hit  at 
Ole  Jay,  an'  he  hit  'im  too — kerspang  ! — 'crost  de  back,  an'  ef  yo' 
ain't  breeve  dis  tale,  des  look  at  Jay  an'  he  chilluns.  Ter  dis 
day  dey  all  got  dem  mahks,  dem  brack  swinge-mahks  o'  de  hot 
gridiun  bahs  on  dey  long  feddehs,  ez  yo'  kin  see,  plain." 

"  Folks  an'  crittehs  an'  buhds  do  all  mighty  quah  foh  lub  " 
(act  strangely  for  love),  commented  Big  Angy.  "  Dey  wuz 
wunst  bin  er  eagle  dat  tuhn  gal  foh  lub  o'  man." 

"  De  Ian'  sakes  !  I  ain'  ne'er  hyeah  tell  o'  huh." 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  305 

Angy  'did  not  suppose  she  had,  and  proceeded  to  enlighten 
her. 

THE  EAGLE  WHO  BECAME  A  GIRL. 

In  the  old  times,  the  great  Thunder-Bird  and  his  children 
lived  on  a  high  bluff.  One  of  these  children  would  not  mate 
with  another  eagle.  The  reason  was  that  she  had,  while 
sailing  through  the  sky,  seen  a  handsome  young  man  sitting 
on  the  bank  of  the  Missouri,  the  "Big  Muddy"  river,  and 
watching  for  the  great  channel  catfish  which  once  every 
summer  comes  to  the  surface  and  talks  and  prophesies.  From 
that  moment  the  eagle  loved  the  man,  although  she  knew  he 
could  not  fly,  but  must  always  creep  along  the  ground.  For 
a  long  time  she  was  ashamed  to  speak,  but  when  she  saw  him 
with  a  girl  she  could  not  endure  it,  and  went  to  her  father  and 
asked  him  to  bring  to  her  the  young  man.  This  could  not  be, 
and  her  father,  very  angry  at  her  foolishness,  told  her  so.  She 
entreated  so  vehemently  that  he  finally  said  that  she  might  go 
among  men,  but  then  could  not  set  foot  in  Thunder-Land. 
She  agreed  to  go,  and  he  changed  her  into  a  girl — all  but  her 
feet,  they  remained  eagle's  claws,  all  his  sorcery  could  not  make 
them  different. 

"Let  no  human  eye  see  your  feet,"  he  said,  "or  you  will 
again  become  an  eagle." 

She  heeded  his  words.  She  went  among  the  people,  she 
won  the  love  of  him  she  came  after,  she  went  to  his  house  and 
was  happy  for  a  little  while,  only  for  a  little  while,  for  soon  he 
began  to  wonder  why  his  beautiful  wife  never  took  off  her 
moccasins  and  leggings.  For  a  time  he  said  nothing,  but  after 
he  saw  her  go  through  a  stream  and  come  out  dry-shod,  he  was 
troubled,  and  tried  to  make  her  show  her  feet.  He  could  not 
tell  whether  he  had  married  a  witch  or  a  woman  under  an 
enchantment.  When  she  would  not  take  off  her  moccasins,  he 
resolved  to  find  out  why,  so  he  watched  her  until  she  fell  asleep 

21 


3o6  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

and  then  cut  a  hole  in  one  of  them.  He  saw  the  dreadful  claw. 
At  the  same  moment  she  awakened,  she  looked  at  him  with  the 
fierce  eyes  of  an  eagle,  she  sprang  up,  her  arms  became  flapping 
wings,  and,  as  a  storm  struck  the  lodge  and  scattered  its  poles 
and  painted  skins,  she  rose  in  the  air.  He  caught  her  by  her 
long  flowing  hair,  but  it  came  off  in  his  hands,  and  she  flew  out 
of  sight.  Since  then  no  eagle  has  ever  married  a  man  or 
regarded  him  as  anything  but  an  enemy. 


HE   CAUGHT   HER    BY   HER   LONG,    FLOWING    HAIR. 

"  De  way  I  hyeah  dat,"  said  Granny,  "  de  gal  kim  in  er  big 
rain-drap  w'en  er  stawm  wuz  gwine  on.  Wen  de  drap  bustid 
out  she  jumped.  W'en  she  tuck  up  wid  de  man  she  lub,  she 
tole  'im  plain  dat  she  kyarn'  go  out  do's  w'en  de  sun  ur  de 
moon  wuz  a-shinin'.  He  'gree  dat  she  go  des  w'en  'twuz 
cloudy,  but  after  w'iles  he  fegit ;  wunst,  w'en  he  all  tuckahd  out 
(tired)  arter  huntin'  he  mek  'er  go  out  an'  git  de  game  whah  he 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  307 

flung  hit  unneat  er  ash  tree.  She  don't  wanter  go,  but  he  mek 
'er,  an'  she  git  de  tucky  (turkey)  an'  de  piece  o'  deer  meat  an' 
staht  back.  De  moon  come  out  des  ez  she  git  ter  de  do'  an'  de 
man  see  'er  sail  up  in  de  a'r  lak  er  eagle.  She  drap  'er  shoe, 
dough,  an'  whah  hit  fall — hit  wuz  one  dem  bead  shoe  dey  call 
moc'sins — dey  grow  up  er  floweh  des  lak  hit,  an'  dey  call  hit 
arter  dat  name." 

"  I've  seen  a  moccasin-flower,"  cried  Tow  Head,  in  triumph. 

"  Dey  wuz  wunst  er  man  tuhn  inter  er  buzzahd  for  killin> 
he  mammy,"  said  Aunt  Mary,  but  nobody  paid  any  heed  to  her. 

"Huccome  doves1  wuz  fum  lub,"  said  Big  Angy,  and,  poor 
a  subject  as  she  looked  for  the  tender  passion,  as  she  sat  there 
with  the  firelight  playing  over  her  angles,  she  told  "  huccome 
lub  "  with  evident  sympathy  for  the  trials  of  lovers. 

THE  DOVES. 

In  the  old  times,  almost  in  the  beginning,  were  a  boy  and 
girl  most  beautiful.  No  one  can  tell  how  much  they  loved 
each  other,  but,  alas  !  a  terrible  sorcerer  loved  the  girl  and 
his  daughter,  a  terrible  woman  with  a  hump-back  and  fiery 
eyes,  loved  the  boy.  The  wicked  ones  swore  by  fire,  water, 
wind,  the  ground,  the  blood  of  all  things,  and  the  poison  of  the 
snake-king  to  have  these  innocent  young  people  for  themselves, 
This  the  grass  told  to  the  poor  young  people  and  they  ran  away, 
hoping  the  sorcerer  and  his  daughter  could  not  find  them, 
'(hey  fled  through  all  the  world,  but  the  wicked  ones  were 
hard  after  them.  All  things  would  fain  have  helped  the 
lovers,  but  they  could  do  little  against  sorcery  ;  still,  they  could 
do  something,  so  the  vines  flung  out  their  branches  to  stop  the 
sorcerers  ;  the  birds  called,  "  This  way  !  this  way,"  when  it  was 
not  the  way  the  boy  and  girl  took  ;  the  grass  sprang  up 
quickly  and  hid  all  tracks  ;  the  thickets  closed  round  them 
when  they  stopped  a  little  to  rest  ;  the  streams  parted  their 

1  How  they  became  doves. 


308  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO, 

waters  and  let  the  lovers  go  through,  but  raged  as  torrents  as 
the  pursuers  came  up.  All  this  helped  a  little,  but  not  much, 
the  sorcerer  and  his  daughter  gained  on  the  others  every 
moment.  One  evening  the  boy  and  girl  reached  the  lodge  of 
an  old  and  great  sorcerer  who  lived  alone,  and  cared  nothing 
for  any  spell.  He  was  too  old  to  walk,  but  he  could  see  into 
the  clouds  and  down  through  the  solid  rocks.  He  saw  these 
people  a  long  way  off.  He  knew  what  he  would  do.  He 
called  fire  and  it  came  ;  he  poured  magic  herbs  on  it ;  he 
sprinkled  it  with  the  dust  of  withered  enemies.  When  the 
lovers  came  they  could  not  speak,  they  entreated  with  their 
hands,  they  fell  down  at  his  feet.  He  heard  the  trampling  of 
the  sorcerer  and  his  daughter  and  smiled.  He  took  the  lovers 
and  flung  them  into  the  magic  fire.  The  evil  ones  came  up 
and  tried  to  snatch  them  from  the  flames,  but  the  boy  and  girl 
flew  up  to  the  tree  tops  singing.  They  were  changed  into 
doves.  When  the  sorcerer  and  his  daughter  saw  it  they  cursed 
and  howled.  The  greater  one  kicked  them  away  from  him 
changed  into  stones.  The  stones  rolled  into  a  stream,  the 
stream  carried  them  to  a  lake,  and  there  they  lie,  fast  buried  in 
the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

"  I  know  a  better  love  story  than  that  1 "  cried  Tow  Head, 
eagerly. 

"  Dar  now  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.     It's  about— 

• 

'  Noah's  weary  dove 

That  sailed  the  earth  around, 
And  not  a  resting-place  above 
The  cheerless  waters  found* 

I'll  tell  it  to  you  some  time." 

"  Des  hole  on  twell  I  tells  dat  ole  Whip-po'-will  kill  he  own 
brerreh  foh  lub  ob  er  gal  'an'  now  he  sorry  an'  ax  yo'  ter  whup 
*im,  an,  ef  yo  don't  wan  ter  die,  ef  yo'  hyeah  'im  ax,  yo'  got  ter 


AND  OTHER  SORCERERS.  309 

th'ow  fiah-coals  at  'im.  Dat  done,  Ise  out  o'  wuhk.  Yo' 
hatter  tek  up  de  bizniz,"  said  Granny. 

"  Yo'  hatter  tek  keer.  Yo'  gvvine  ter  git^scrouge  clean  offen 
de  flo',  ef  yo'  ain'  watch  yo  se'f !  "  cried  Aunt  Mary,  strangling 
a  giggle. 

"  Troof  too,"  assented  Aunt  Em'ly.  ::  De  young  folks  crowd 
us,  dey  suttinly  do,  but  den  we  ain't  gals  no  longeh.  We's 
gittin'  on,  Aunt  Jinny,  we's  gittin'  on." 

"  Dat's  so,  Aunt  Em'ly,  dat's  natchelly  so.  De  moj  ez  I  lib 
de  mo'  I  feel  lak  I  gwine  ter  quit  de  urr  chunes  an'  stick  ter  ole' 
'Sundown'.  Hit  des  suits  my  case,  an'  ef  yo'  ladies  '11  he'p  out 
on  de  secon'  lines,  I'll  strak  up  de  a'r  right  now." 

The  "ladies"  having  agreed  to  "he'p  out"  as  desired, 
Granny  began  to  mark  time,  first  with  her  feet,  then  with  her 
hands,  alternately  clapping  her  hands  together  and  against  her 
knees.  After  a  prelude  of,  perhaps,  two  minutes,  she  began  to 
sing,  or  rather  chant,  in  a  high,  thin,  but  still  sweet,  old  voice, 
the  sweetest  of  all  negro  hymns,  "  Sundown  " — 

"  Ise  gittin'  ole,  Ise  gittin'  ole," 

she  ?ang,  and  the  others  in  deeper  tone  responded — 
"  Ise  lookin'  todes  Sundown." 

How  Aunt  Mymee's  glorious  contralto  swelled  out  on  the 
night  like  the  notes  of  an  organ  ! — 

"  Dese  po'  ole  bones,  dey  feel  de  cole. 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 

Oh,  Jesus,  honey,  deah  good  Lawd  I 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 
Oh,  come  er  long  an'  loose  de  cawd  ! 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 

Oh,  break  de  bowl  des  w'en  yo'  will ! 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 
Ob  dis  vain  worl'  Ise  got  my  fill 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 


3io  OLD  RABBIT,  THE  VOODOO. 

O,  break  de  pitcheh  at  de  well  1 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 
Des  keep  de  pieces  out  o'  hell. 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 

Come,  Lawd,  come  !  come  arter  me. 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 
Come  tek  my  ban'  an'  set  me  free. 
Ise  lookin'  todes  sundown. 

Sundown  !  sundown  !  We'll  all  git  dar  I 
Sundown  !  sundown,  hit's  comin'  ! 
De  trump  o'  Gabr'el  shakes  de  a'r  ! 
Sundown  1  sundown  !  hit's  comin  !  " 


FAIRY  TALES  OF  THE  NATIONS 


ENGLISH  FAIRY  TALES. 

Collected  by  Joseph  Jacobs,  President  of  the  English  Folk-Lore 
Society.     Pictured  by  John  D.  Batten.     I2mo        .         .     $i  75 

"  The  stories  are  all  either  new  or  told  in  new  form,  and  the  book  as  a 
mechanical  accomplishment  is  one  of  the  most  admirable  things  that  has 
come  from  the  press  for  many  months." — Detroit  Free  Press. 


CELTIC  FAIRVT  TALES. 

Collected   by   Joseph   Jacobs. 
Uniform  with  above.     I2mo 


Pictured   by   John    D.    Batten. 
$i   75 


"Mr.  Jacobs  relates  their  marvels  racily  and  in  a  way  to  hold  the  ear  of 
either  a  child  or  a  student  of  this  fascinating  branch  of  folk-lore." — Chris- 
tian Union. 

INDIAN   FAIRY  TALES. 

Collected  and  edited  by  Joseph  Jacobs,   pictured  by  John   D. 

Batten.     I2mo $i   75 

"  His  works  are  always  entertaining  and  valuable,  aud  his  series  of  fairy 
books  grows  in  interest  with  each  new  volumes." — New  York  Post. 

CHINESE  NIGHTS  ENTERTAINMENTS. 

Forty  Tales  Related  by  Almond-Eyed  Folk.  Actors  in  the 
Romance  of  ' '  The  Strayed  Arrow. "  By  Adele  M.  Fielde.  With 
illustrations  by  Chinese  artists.  Uniform  with  above  volumes. 

I2mo $i  75 

(Ready  May,  1893.) 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


NEW  YORK 
27  WEST  23D  STREET 


LONDON 
24  BEDFORD  ST.,  STRAND 


POPULAR   ARCHEOLOGY. 


Primitive  /IDan  in  ©biO.— By  WARREN  K.  MOOREHEAD, 
Fellow  of  the  American  Association  for  the  Advancement 
of  Science,  author  of  "Fort  Ancient,  the  Great  Prehistoric 
Earthwork  of  Warren  County,  Ohio."  8vo.  Fully  illus- 
trated.   $3  oo 

This  book,  which  is  a  companion  work  to  Nadaillac's  "  Pre- 
historic America,"  is  the  result  of  the  observations  of  the  author 
and  his  collaborators  in  Ohio  during  a  number  of  years  ;  their 
deductions  are  made  from  the  testimony  of  the  burial-places,  vil- 
lage sites,  and  fortifications  marking  various  epochs  in  primeval 
man's  existence.  It  is  a  comprehensive  statement  of  their  dis- 
coveries related  without  ornamentation. 

Prehistoric    Hmerica.      By   the    MARQUIS   DE    NADAILLAC. 
Translated  by  Nancy  Bell  (N.  D'Anvers),  author  of  "His- 
tory of  Art."     Edited,  with  Notes,  by  W.  H.  Dall.     Large 
octavo,  with  219  illustrations.     Popular  edition,       .       $2   25 
CHIEF  CONTENTS. — Man  and  the  Mastodon — The  Kjokken- 
moddings  and  Cave  Relics — Mound  Builders — Pottery — Weapons 
and  Ornaments  of  the  Mound-Builders— Cliff-Dwellers  and  In- 
habitants of  the  Pueblos — People  of  Central  America — Central 
American  Ruins — Peru — Early  Races — Origin  of  the  American 
Aborigines,  etc.,  etc. 

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first  comprehensive  work  in  which,  discarding  all  the  old  and  worn-out  nos- 
trums about  the  existence  on  this  continent  of  an  extinct  civilization,  we  are 
brought  face  to  face  with  conclusions  that  are  based  upon  a  careful  comparison 
of  architectural  and  other  prehistoric  remains  with  the  arts  and  industries,  the 
manners  and  customs  of  '  the  only  people,  except  the  whites,  who,  so  far  as  we 
know,  have  ever  held  the  regions  in  which  these  remains  are  found.'  " — Nation. 
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into  one  critical  and  incredulous  volume  all  that  is  most  solid,  sure,  and  trust- 
worthy in  the  whole  realm  of  American  archaeology. " — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Ube  Customs  ant>  jflDonuments  ot  prehistoric  peoples. 

— By  the  MARQUIS  DE  NADAILLAC.  Translated,  with  the 
permission  of  the  author,  by  Nancy  Bell  (N.  D'Anvers). 
Large  octavo.  Fully  illustrated $3  50 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S   SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

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